


Something Precious

by DarthWriter



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Genius Tony Stark, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jealous Tony Stark, Kid Tony Stark, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Possibly Unrequited Love, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Does What He Can, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 55,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28713267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthWriter/pseuds/DarthWriter
Summary: Someone said, 'you don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you as you are to them.' In Steve and Tony's case, that first part is definitelynottrue.Steve is only twenty-three when he meets Tony for the first time. Freshly out of Police Academy, it is his first big case as a newbie detective.Or, the one where Steve is Tony's (adoptive) dad...
Relationships: Clint Barton/Laura Barton, James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 141
Kudos: 82





	1. Prologue

Steve sinks in his car seat in a sigh and puts tired hands on the steering wheel. He blinks a few times, exhausted, even though he's leaving work much earlier than usual. He's getting old, he guesses.

He almost startles when the new kid opens the door and sits awkwardly in the passenger seat next to him.

Right, he invited him...

The kid slams the door closed and Steve turns on the ignition. It's not a long drive to his ma's house. A few minutes only.

She's never wanted to move out, surprisingly, even after Steve's father died. She still lives in their old broken down town house in Brownsville. Well, he's exaggerating a little, the house has been renovated to meet high quality standards, it's just not really visible from the outside.

There is an awkward silence during the first minutes of driving, mostly because Steve is too tired to make conversation. He probably should... After all, _he's_ the one who invited the new kid. And he's older, and his superior, incidentally. He should definitely make the effort.

"Thank you," Peter finally says in an insecure tone, "for inviting me tonight, Captain. I'm very grateful."

Steve smiles and turns gentle eyes to the kid. He's not sure why he invited him. Perhaps because it's a family tradition. Or perhaps because he felt unusually moved by his sad story. Or maybe it's the loneliness in his dark eyes that reminded him a little bit of his son.

"It's alright, kid." Steve answers. "My mother won't mind. She will be delighted."

"I don't want to impose." 

"You won't. Knowing my mother, there's probably enough food to feed the lot of us for an entire month."

Peter smothers a chuckle and pinches his lips embarrassedly. 

The silence lingers between them, until the hesitant voice of Peter breaks it again. "Is he gonna be here?"

Steve startles, wondering for a second whom he is talking about, until he remembers. Of course... He smiles softly, to himself. "He should be." He finally answers. "Never missed Thanksgiving once. Wherever he's been, whatever he's been doing." Steve knows for a fact his son will be here tonight but with Tony you can never be sure of anything.

The kid's breathing hitches and Steve can feel a rise in his nervousness. It's cute.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

The boy turns his big brown eyes to him. Steve can feel his curious stare wandering on his face and it's a little unsettling to be scrutinized like this, then Peter shakes his head into a nod that Steve can't really see but guesses. "Yeah." He adds, realizing that Steve couldn't really see his movements while he was driving.

"Do you have a crush on my son?" Steve asks sternly. He was a bit too direct, he reckons—he tends to do that—and regrets a little bit his forwardness. He glances at Peter who seems to be burying himself in the car seat, face flushed. "Forget about it." Steve adds, feeling a bit sorry about crushing the kid's hopes before they ever get the chance to bloom. "You're not his type." He just needs to make things clear for him and avoid him the heartache. He's not in the mood to deal with something like the new intern falling in love and being heartbroken over his promiscuous son. He might as well break it down to him and kill it in the nest. Besides, he's not really lying. Tony would never go for a kid like Peter.

"I just can't believe that you're Tony Stark's father." Peter explains, denying everything else. "He's... He's... He's amazing—I mean, he's a _genius._ Everything he does—I'm so glad if I get the chance to meet him."

Steve glances at him with a fond expression, feeling his heart melt a little, and smiles. He's not really surprised, Peter looks like the kind of guy who would have a science boner. He's a bit of a nerd.

"Can I ask something personal too?"

Steve nods, feeling the boy's eyes scrutinizing him again. "Sure."

"It's a bit inappropriate though."

Steve snorts. "Go for it, kid. There's little you can say that'll offend me."

"You look very young," Peter says, eyes still staring at him with all the innocence of his young age, "to be his dad."

He roars with laughter and throws his head back, taking his eyes off the road for a split second. "I'm not that young," he says while tapping on his chest, "already fifty-six." And then he adds, "But you're right. We're only eighteen years apart," as an explanation.

"That's pretty young to be a dad." 

"Yeah, I guess..." Steve admits. How many times has he heard that already? "He's adopted though." 

"Yeah," the kid replies, "obviously."

"Obviously..." Steve repeats, mumbling to himself. There is something little people know about however, it's that Tony Stark's actual name is Anthony Edward Rogers and Steve can still feel a little bit of pride at the knowledge. He feels a little nostalgic while remembering those happy moments.

The car makes a halt as they reach the driveway and Steve keeps his gloved hands on the wheel, bracing himself for the night to come. He forgets about the kid for a moment and takes a few deep breaths while clutching the wheel until he hears the kid clearing his throat.

"Are we here?"

He snaps out of it and turns to him abruptly. "Yeah. Sorry, yeah. We're here."

They both get out of the car and walk to the threshold. Steve turns the key inside the lock and opens the door with a certain familiarity, although it hasn't been his house for more than three decades. He still has the keys. It still feels home. It smells like home too, even from outside, in the cold November night, they can smell the appetizing aromas coming from his ma's kitchen.

Steve gets in like it's his place and walks straight to the kitchen where his mother is busy cooking for her extended family. He strides to her and kisses her on the cheek. "'Evening Ma!" He rushes to say, trying—and failing spectacularly—to walk away before she can put her spatula down and embrace him. There is a knowing glint in her eye but she still wraps her arms around him like he's still her little boy and gives comforting taps on his broad shoulders while she takes a whiff of his smell. Steve ends up leaning into her and wraps his too big arms around her for a short moment. One that is long enough for Sarah Rogers to see right through him however and she runs her hand on his bearded face and smiles at him gently with the wise tenderness of a mother. Steve mentally traces the furrows of her laugh lines and feels already better. "My boy," she answers softly. She probably knows the turmoil he feels inside but she doesn't say anything. For now. 

Then she turns her eyes toward Peter who is looking at them sheepishly, wavering awkwardly on his feet, a bit embarrassed. "And who's the kid?"

Steve walks to him and ushers him inside, making it easier for him. "Ma," Steve says with an amused smile. "This is Peter, he's my new assistant. He didn't have anyone to spend Thanksgiving with." Then he adds, only for the sadistic pleasure of making Peter even more embarrassed than he already is. "You don't mind, do you?"

His mother makes a heartbroken face and wipes her hands on her apron. "Oh my poor boy," she exclaims and strides to him with open arms. She curls them around him lovingly and presses him against her breast. "You're very welcome here," she says reassuringly and then she adds, "anytime," and Steve smiles as he witnesses the kid suddenly becoming part of his extended family, eyes open-wide and lost. His mother presses around the poor kid and starts harassing him with questions. Steve takes that opportunity to walk away and observes the scene aloofly, grinning at the startled face Peter makes. He watches his tense features relax softly and his pale skin color as his first worries about being intruding on them vanish.

Steve heads towards the living room and adjoining dining room which is already very lively. All the lights are on and the table is beautifully laid. His sister is already there, chatting with Peggy. They're both in deep conversation, a glass of red wine in hand. Peggy suddenly laugh, throwing her head back and bearing her throat. Her gestures are so light and delicate, subtly sophisticated, it stirs something in Steve.

He stops in his tracks and feels his heartbeat accelerate at the sight of her, sending a tingle down his spine. She's absolutely stunning in her sheath dress. The brazen piece of fabric only outlines her shape perfectly, highlighting her thin waist, her generous hips and voluptuous breast. Her lips are of the same garish red, plump and curvy and tantalizing. Their eyes meet and she gives him a coy smile while watching him sidelong, eyes glimmering with something mischievous. 

Steve's mouth dries. He's perfectly aware that his wife was in his bed just this morning and yet, seeing her here and now, gorgeous in her attire and smiling lightheartedly, gives him all sorts of emotions, taking them both away from a routine they too often settle into.

He struts over to the ladies and takes her hand gently. When she holds it delicately to him, he bows a little and brushes his lips on her skin. "Mrs Rogers," he rasps hoarsely. She smiles amusedly and shares a look with Laura. They both smirk and Steve can feel his face flush but doesn't back out and grabs her tiny waist possessively. He cocks his head and she inches back, instinctively, trying to avoid spilling her glass of whine, but when his lips reach her face, she smiles and leans into him, accepting the kiss he plants on the corner of her sensual mouth. "You're splendid tonight, love."

"Good evening, darling." She answers, with her tight British accent. "And you're very handsome too, husband of mine." The words roll on the tip of her tongue and roils in the bottom of his stomach. Her skin is reddish with the scraping of his beard and he feels even more possessive.

Laura rolls her eyes and clears her throat, reminding them both of her presence. "Hi, sis." Steve says, suddenly remembering her. He kisses her on the cheek, smiling guiltily. "Where's your husband?"

"Clint went to pick up Lila and the girls, should be here soon."

Steve nods but his attention is pulled back to his gorgeous wife. His eyes settles in hers and he smiles again, feeling his heart flutter a little. They should do this more often, he thinks. 

"You've come early." Steve tells her, a little surprised by that fact. His wife comes home late usually, some times she doesn't come home at all. She has a high-level responsibility position. She earns more than he does and he's quite proud of that. Steve definitely put his career on the side, for the sake of his son. In a way, he's glad that she had this opportunity, even if that means they don't get to share much quality time together. That might be the reason he's still in love in with her after all those years. He's so proud of her. Steve's ambition now to retire in good health and devote his time to his second passion, painting.

"I had to pick up Harley at the airport this afternoon, remember?"

Steve is positively surprised for the second time. He feels his heart accelerate again. Remember? No, he didn't. "I thought he was busy with his project this year."

"He was able to make time after all."

Steve raises an eyebrow. "Tony?"

They share a knowing smile and Peggy sighs when she nods. "Probably."

"I'm so glad though." Steve says in a low voice, almost to himself.

Peggy brushes her hand on his cheek, as if to clean him up. "I've told you last week, you know?" She mentions, her tone rather casual, without an ounce of reproach in it.

Steve feels the growing heat of shame creep on his face nonetheless. "I haven't been very attentive lately, have I?" He admits.

Peggy gives him an understanding smile and brushes her soft hand on his face again, comfortingly. "It's gonna be fine." She says like she knows exactly why Steve hasn't been attentive lately. Why is stomach is churning with worry. Why he's been absentminded all day long, even though he hasn't said a word to her. She knows him too well.

Steve shakes those thoughts away and forces a smile on his weary face. "Where's my boy?"

"Upstairs, unpacking."

"He's not staying at ours?" He asks, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice. He can hear his own words rasp out of his mouth painfully.

His wife shrugs, pouting a little. _Tony again_ , he supposes. 

It is not long before Harley runs down the stairs and joins them. He puts his hand on Steve's shoulder and the latter tilts his head on the side to let his grandson greet him with a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Pops."

Yeah... Despite what it looks like, Harley is not their son, even though they practically raised him. He and Peggy never had children. It wasn't a wish, nor a regret, it just happened. Perhaps, they were too late, or too early. Perhaps their respective careers took over everything. Or perhaps it was something else entirely—or _someone_ else—but it was never the right time, it seems, until it was too late. And then they found themselves with a baby boy to take care of, Harley.

It's been a wonderful journey.

Steve curls an exhausted arm around the young man and interrogates him. The boy tells him about his life at MIT. Steve listens to him attentively, nodding from time to time and frowning a little, the way he does sometimes if he isn't careful enough, occupational hazard.

Harley doesn't hold it against him. He answers cheerfully, with the same excitement his father shows when he tells Steve about his own projects. Steve's heart twinges a little.

Steve tightens his hold around the boy one last time before freeing him from his overly protective paternal embrace. "Why don't you show Peter around? He's a bit shy. I think you guys are the same age. You should hit it off."

Harley looks at him confusedly but doesn't ask any question, familiar with the surprises that come with this family's atypical generosity, before walking toward the kitchen and saving Peter from Sarah Rogers' grasp. 

Steve chats up for a few minutes with his wife and sister, learns that his nephew will not be able to make it, goes back to the kitchen and grabs a beer bottle from the fridge that he opens with delight and drinks peacefully in the armchair by the fireplace. He enjoys the freshness of it with delectation and lets out a long sigh of satisfaction. For a short moment, he thinks of his own father who always sat here to read the newspaper. He father wasn't effusive with his marks of affection. He was strict and rough, but he was straight and honest and sometimes Steve wishes he could ask him for advice again.

It's not long before more life, and more noise, fills up his mother's house.

Clint comes back with Lila and her two daughters who run to him, shouting excitedly, and give him a kiss. Steve hugs his niece and pats his brother-in-law on the shoulder and then gives him a warm hug. They became good friend rapidly when Clint married his sister and have remained close all those years. Clint is more than a friend to Steve now. He's a brother.

Steve offers Clint a beer and goes back to the kitchen. The girls run upstairs, ready to harass their older cousin. He trusts Harley to find a way to keep them busy while they're waiting for dinner. He's always had the patience of a saint. Bless him.

Pepper arrives soon after with her natural delicateness and good manners. She's truly dazzling in her soberly elegant dress. She greets his Ma politely and, as always, has brought something for everyone. Behind her, Morgan is pouting and playing on her phone. She rolls her eyes and sighs when her mother calls her out on it. Steve smiles because he can see so much of his son in her pout and in her smile, despite the braces.

When she finally looks up from her phone, her dark eyes meet Steve's and her smile spreads on her face. She's all innocent and genuine at first before her smile turns into a haughty grin. Steve's heart twinge a little, she looks so much like Tony in that instant Steve feels like in a flashback, twenty-five years ago. She runs to him and jumps into his arms, curling her long thin legs around his waist. "Grandpa!" Steve holds her tight against him and buries his head in the crook of her neck, breathing her in. He would have never thought before meeting Tony that little moments like this would bring him so much joy and happiness. "Hey, little monkey!" He rasps while tightening his embrace. Perhaps he holds her a little longer than necessary, lost in nostalgic memories, because he can feel her wiggle in his arms and puts her down immediately. She heads toward her grandma and greets her and Laura and Lila with that same enthusiasm.

She's truly her father's daughter.

"I'm way too young to be called Grandma." He hears Peggy say. She says it every time. 

Steve smiles and walks a few steps towards them. "But you're a very sexy one." He says and Peggy rolls her eyes but still blushes beautifully and gives him a gentle smile.

Pepper is already chatting with the three women by the time Morgan reaches the stairs to run to her big brother and her cousins. They get along very well, despite the huge difference of characters. They're both strong women, in their ways, and almost the same age. They understand each other.

Even though her romance with Tony didn't last very long—if there ever was a romance between them—as soon as Tony introduced her and Morgan to them, they knocked it off and made sure afterwards to keep in touch, for the kids' sake. Pepper is family now. Steve couldn't be any happier about it.

Tonight though, nothing seems to ease the churning in his stomach. He walks back inside the kitchen, unconsciously looking for the reassurance of his mother and simply her comforting presence. "Do you need any help with this, ma?"

"No, I'm handling it. I'm almost done anyway." She says while wiping her hands on her apron. 

"We could hire someone to help, you know?" He croaks out, a little guiltily, when he sees the gargantuan meal that covers about every surface of that kitchen now. "Or ask the kids to come earlier. You shouldn't have to do this on your own." 

"I like cooking for my family, Stevie. Don't take that away from me! Let me do this while I still can." 

Steve feels a little pang in his chest at the reminder. He looks at his mother who looks exactly the same as always and yet, as years pass by the marks of age grow more and more obvious on her face. And sometimes, Steve sees his mother with a new eye and remembers that her time on this earth is limited and his heart sinks in his chest. He's not ready to lose her too.

"You could at least let us pay for some of it!"

She smiles. "You know perfectly well that your son paid even for the tiniest grain of salt in this dinner."

Steve chuckles. "I know..." He says softly, voice hoarsely stuck in his throat. "But it hurts my pride as your son." 

His mother turns to him and stares into his eyes for a long while. She needs to wring her neck to look up at him. They share a moment of silence. She knows very well why Steve is lingering in her kitchen right now. She brings her hand to his roughed face. "My baby boy..." She mutters softly.

Steve chuckles again but leans into the touch. He grabs her hand. "You do realize that I'm twice a grandpa, right?"

Sarah Rogers gives him her most generous laugh. "Steven Grant Rogers," she exclaims in a sigh, "you'll always be my baby boy to me."

Steve presses her hand against his bearded cheek, indulging in her soft touch.

"Stop worrying over it, son." She says. "He's a big boy, now. He can take care of himself."

"Can he, really?"

For as long as Steve has been Tony's father, he's always had to handle his son's messes. He'll never stop worrying about him. You know what they say, the older the child, the bigger the problems. In Tony's case, the adage has never been so true.

The first time Tony came to live with Steve, he had been so anxious. He had no idea how to take care of a kid, especially not one who had been through what Tony had been through. It has been difficult, Steve won't deny it, but not even thrice as much as Steve had imagined it.

Tony took care of Steve as much as Steve took care of him and he learnt how to be a dad just as much as Tony learnt how to be a son.

Kid Tony was a handful but not as much as grown-up Tony is and his shenanigans have given Steve grey hair much earlier than supposed to. His stomach has never stopped churning ever since his son left the family house and Steve still wakes up in sweat sometimes, shouting Tony's name.

"From what he's told me," mama Rogers says, trying to be reassuring, "this boyfriend of his sounds like a jewel. It's gonna be different this time."

"Haven't they all, ma?"

His mother inches back a little and studies him, mouth twisted pensively. "It's not your choice to make." She finally says, sounding like the voice of reason.

How Steve wishes it was!

"You know, Steven," his mother carries on with a life-lessons-giving tone, "your father and I have been worried about you too, the same way, and it turned out alright in the end. I know it's hard, to be a parent. Especially with a son like Tony, one that is bigger than life, too big for commoners like us sometimes, but you need to let things go and accept that you can't make his decisions for him." She pauses, studying Steve's reaction and fondles his face again. "My heart still bleeds, you know, when I see you like this," she adds, her voice pregnant with pain and nostalgia, "being a parent is a job for life."

Steve nods and leans into her so she can curl her arms around him. He bows his head and she gives him a peck on the forehead. Nothing else is said, Steve knows she's right but it doesn't make him feel any better. He walks back to the living room when the grown-ups are talking while the kids are upstairs. It feels like deja-vu. Everything is so peaceful in here, the quiet before the storm. Everyone unconsciously preparing themselves for the chaos to come.

For, of course, every single person in this house is anxious about tonight. They all look forward eagerly, and equally dread, the tornado that is Tony Stark. 

And here he comes.

* * *

The front door bursts open and everyone knows who that is. A whirlwind breaks in Sarah Rogers's house and sucks in all the air and energy inside and suddenly everything is loud and overwhelming.

An overexcited Tony invades the space around, arms loaded with presents. He throws everything down and hops about to the kitchen where Steve's mother went to fetch a corkscrew. 

"Nana!" He shouts while wrapping himself around Sarah. His arms delicately envelop her, holding her tight and safe, and he heaves her gently before spinning her around like a gracious dancer. 

Ma hits him on the shoulder. "Put me down, you stupid boy!" She protests. "You're gonna break my bones!"

Steve grins at the scene. As far as he knows, Tony has always greeted his ma the same way, for as long as he was strong enough to carry her in his arms. Over the years, however, as Sarah grew older and more fragile, his movements have become safer, smoother, more delicate, more protective. He carries her so softly, in a feather-light embrace, securely holding her against his chest.

While he puts her down delicately, she grabs his face with her two hands and looks up into his eyes. "My baby boy..." she whispers, the same way she calls Steve. She has always considered him like a second son Steve supposes. "You look happy, I'm so glad."

Tony smiles back to her, grinning to his ears. "I am." He answers and then his eyes turn to Steve and they share a look. Tony's smile aims to be reassuring. It fails.

Steve knows better. He has heard this sentence and seen this act so many times before.

Peggy puts an arm on his shoulder, he throws his hand back desperately and grab hers, pressing it against his shoulder and fiddling with her fingers. 

The whirlwind moves around to the living room and devastates everything in its path. Morgan runs down the stairs and throws herself into his arms.

"Ciao Principessa mia."

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

Tony holds her tight in his arms and rests his face on her dark head. "Hi, munchkin!" He mutters softly into her hair, "I missed you crazy!"

Morgan curls her arms around him and buries her head in his chest. The scene is heartbreakingly touching for a short while.

"Did you bring me my new phone?"

Tony jerks back and lets her go. He opens his mouth in mock outrage, hands on his heart. "Ha! One month without seeing your daddy dearest and that's how you greet me! I'm shocked. Betrayed. Stabbed in the heart by my own flesh and blood... So young... So young and already so corrupted. My heart's bleeding. You're making my poor old heart bleed, you ungrateful child! You're no daughter of mine!"

Morgan's smile fades and she looks at her dad confusedly, realizing what she did. "Sorry, dad!" She says with a devilish grin. "I missed you too." 

Spoiled child.

Tony rolls his eyes. "How rude! _Your daughter_ is very bad-mannered!" He snarks while pointing an accusatory finger at Pepper who is outwardly offended. 

_"My_ daughter?" She shouts, although her lips are pinched to smother a grin. 

"Behaviorally," Tony snaps back, "you're the one who raised her!" He says provocatively. 

"How about you shove that behavioral finger up your pretty ass, Tones." She says while showing him her middle finger, grin widely spread of her delicate face this time. "Morgan, sweetheart? What do you say about moving to California with your dad?" Then she turns to Peggy and Laura and complains about raising teenagers which Laura understands because she's had to deal with Cooper and Lila's teenage phases and Peggy understands because she raised Harley—and _Tony._ So god bless her, she understands...

"Yeah, I'd love to!" Morgan replies excitedly. "We'd have so much fun! Wouldn't we, dad?"

"We would!" He answers with the same evil grin of someone up to no good!

"Yeaaah, that's settled then." Pepper concludes, slightly sarcastic, and then takes a sip of her glass of wine. "I'll look up for schools in Malibu. There must be really good schools there, aren't they Tony?" 

"Definitely! The best ones!"

"Good! I say she should move in after Christmas, what do you say? I heard winters are warm in California..."

"Yeah..." Tony interrupts, pouting guiltily. "About that..." And everyone turns to him questioningly, sensing the disaster coming. "I'm moving out." He just says and everyone understands that this is no longer a joke.

"You are _what?"_ Pepper exclaims, sounding awfully worried and beyond surprised. 

"I'm moving out," Tony repeats casually, "away to DC."

Pepper looks pretty much horrified. _"What?"_

"I told you, didn't I?" He says sheepishly. "I'm opening a branch there. Someone needs to supervise things."

"You _mentioned_ your intention to _perhaps_ open a branch there. You never said anything about moving all the way to DC!!!"

"Yeah, well, sorry about that..." Tony shrugs unapologetically.

Pepper grimaces and sighs desperately. "Tony! How can you _not_ tell me something like that!!? Who's gonna handle things in California when you're gone?"

"We'll find someone, won't we?"

"You mean _I'll_ find someone!" She grumbles. "What happened to 'Pep, winters are so warm in Malibu, I'm never ever coming back to the east coast!' and 'spring time is magnificent in California, you should move to the West with me, Pep!' and 'Summers are the best in California, move over here!' and 'We definitely need to expand our Californian branch, the future is happening in the west!' and—"

"Yeah... that was definitely my Justin phase." He scratches the back of his head and grins. "I've been over that for a while now..."

Pepper is stamping down exasperatedly. "Arrgh Tony! You can't just change the direction of the company every time you have a new boyfriend! You've got responsibilities!"

"How about you take care of the responsibility thing and I just—I just—I keep being amazing?" 

Tony grins sheepishly. Pepper rolls her eyes and drops her arms in despair. Morgan watches the ping pong match between her parents gleefully. Everyone else is low-key amused.

Tony is doing well for himself now. He has rebuilt his company from the grounds, developed it and makes decent money. It hasn't always been the case, despite his predisposition and huge inheritance. Mostly, because of his abusive partners. Mostly, because he's a genius but he's lousy at handling himself and has the emotional brain of a twelve-year-old.

Discreetly, Tony hands a small package to his daughter. "Hey, munchkin, here's your new phone! The last version!"

Morgan leaps excitedly. "Thanks dad!"

Pepper lets out another exasperated noise. "I cannot believe you just gave her a new phone!" Tony responds with a sheepish smile. "She doesn't need a new phone!" Pepper shouts angrily. "Her last one is barely two months old!"

"Yeah, she does." Tony hurries to say, a soft mutters that sounds awfully insolent.

Pepper rolls her eyes one last time, defeated, and Tony walks over to her with his arms wide open. 

Yep. That's him. That's Tony Stark. Steve's son. His little boy who's all grown-up now. Physically at least. Steve watches the scene amusedly. He would have been annoyed a few years ago, wished his son would be a little less immature, but over time he has learnt how not to expect much from Tony's behavior. He has come to terms with it, perhaps.

"Pepperoni, honey! I love you so much it hurts!" Tony takes her delicate body in his arms and curls them around her thin waist. "You're absolutely stunning in that dress. I'll buy you shoes, I promise."

"This is not—" she protests and gets interrupted by his lips on hers. She lets him kiss her, arms frozen in the air.

"I love you." He says with a wink and lets her go. She doesn't say anything else.

Then he turns to Peggy. "Mama..." He greets and offers her a kiss on the cheek. "You look gorgeous in that dress! Are you and dad celebrating something?" Peggy smiles and gives him a slap on the head. Tony grins teasingly and ignores her, turning away to Laura and Clint. "Auntie." He whispers warmly. "Uncle." He gives them a round of kisses and hugs and last but not least, he finally greets his cousin. "Hi, sis!" He says softly while wrapping his arms around Lila and gives her a warm hug. She giggles in his embrace but curls her hands around him and smiles. They whisper for a while, like the two close teenagers they used to be, and then he's back to hopping around. 

"Where's my sunshine?" He asks loudly, hands moving about excitedly, taking up all the energy of the room. "Harley? Apple of my eye! Ray of light in the morning! My heart and my soul! Treasure of my life! My beloved! My most dearest _dearest_ son? Where are you?"

Harley saunters down the stairs with his hands down his pockets, followed by Peter and the girls. He rolls jaded eyes and sighs exasperatedly. "I'm here, dad." He says in a desperate tone.

"Here you are!" Tony exclaims and jumps excitedly all over his son, wrapping him entirely and kissing him more than necessary. Harley keeps a nonchalant face and bores a bored expression. He might seem very unimpressed by his father's shenanigans but Steve knows how much he loves when Tony acts like that with him. They have a complicated relationship but there's much much love in it. "Tell me everything!"

Harley doesn't even have the time to open his mouth, although he really wants to, before Tony's fickle eyes turn to Peter and stop there. "Hey!" He exclaims and then slurs seductively. "Hello there!" Then he asks Harley. "Who's that cutie? Your new boyfriend?" 

"I'm straight, dad."

Tony pouts. "Shame." He regrets. "Nana? Did you pick up strays again?" He then shouts toward the kitchen.

"Nope!" Sarah shouts back. "That's on your dad!"

"How cute!" Tony exclaims and then jerks his head on the side, eyes searching Steve's. They lock into his and Tony gives him a fond smile, barely visible, then he turns his attention back to Peter.

"Well, gorgeous! Welcome to the family!" He says with an inviting smile spread wide on his face. "You can stay for as long as you need!" Peter blushes embarrassedly and looks down. He's already done for.

Steve smirks.

It's a little later, in the intimate quiet of the kitchen, when Steve and his mother are bringing the huge amounts of food to the dining table, that Tony properly greets his father.

Steve can already feel his presence behind him before he touches him. The warmth of him, the scent of his cologne. And then two hands that slide around his waist and clutch him from behind. The long and thin calloused fingers splay on his stomach and Tony hums against his back, burying his face between his shoulder blades.

"Hi, daddy..." He whispers while nuzzling against him. And if his touches are a little too intimate, and if the way he purrs against him is a little too much, and if the way he rubs his nose on the nape of his neck, breathing him in, is a little inappropriate, and if the way he pronounces 'daddy,' words slurred sensually on the tip of his tongue, is a little too connoted, and if their embrace lasts a little too long, and if Steve lets him do it, knowing all of this, well, then...

Tony's beard prickle on the nape of his neck and he tightens his embrace around Steve. He hums again and it almost sounds like a moan, perhaps it ends in a chuckle. At least, Steve can feel his lips curl up against the skin at the bottom of his neck.

Steve grabs his son's hands and rubs the inside of his palms with his thumb for a short while, indulging him, and then he pulls on his right arm and makes him stumble into his embrace. He throws his heavy arm around tony's shoulders and pulls him down to brush his knuckles on his head, just like he did when Tony was a brat. He probably still is, Steve reckons. Tony laughs and it's lighthearted and soft and sunny. Steve lets himself kiss him on the cheek, indulging him again, or maybe himself. 

"Hi, son!" He replies, voice low and hoarse, deep in his throat. He can't help the happy grin that spreads on his face.

Tony smiles to him, mouth closed, and runs his fingers in his beard. The touch is almost overwhelming. "I miss you." Tony mumbles sulkily, snuggling against him, and Steve doesn't dwell on the fact that he used the present tense.

"I miss you too, son."

Tony lingers for a little too long in his embrace and snuggles against him, smile spread proudly and possessively on his lips. And this is certainly no way for a father to greet his son but it's _their_ way and Steve never regretted their closeness, not once.

Even when Tony is following him around in the house as if he can't stand the distance between them. And even when he can't keep his hands to himself. And even when he buries his face in the crook of Steve's neck and his breath tickles Steve's sensitive skin and makes him shiver with something he'll never acknowledge.

Because every time Tony's hands curl around him, he is reminded of the first time they met, of the way the scrawny arms clutched to him, like his life depended on it—it certainly did then. Steve had held the small boy in his arms then and felt something so powerful, so full of promises and love, he's never been able to let it go.

Because every time he holds Tony in his arms, he feels a surge of love and affection, so overwhelming, and he wants to keep him close, warm and safe against him, to protect him against the evil of the world, against everything and everyone. 

* * *

Dinner is ready, the table is set and Mama Rogers finally took off her apron. Everything is perfect, except everything is not. 

Everything is not because there's one person missing. One person that everyone but Tony dreads. One person that everyone but Tony knows, who keeps them waiting.

Steve had almost forgotten about him for a short moment, so caught up in his memories and in his son's affectionate gestures. He had almost forgotten but now his blatant absence makes his stomach churn again.

"So, where is that boyfriend of yours?" Sarah asks, saying out loud what everyone is thinking shamefully. 

Tony shrugs nonchalantly. "On his way. Flight got delayed. He should arrive soon."

Mama hums pensively. Everyone else starts showing signs of anxiety. Steve's hand clenches and unclenches nervously. He already wants to punch the guy right on his face.

There is a moment of peaceful quiet, one when Tony is finally silent, watching the flames in the fireplace dance eerily. His hand is resting on the bricks surrounding the hearth. He seems lost in his thoughts. The three girls are quiet too, entranced in whatever Harley is telling them. Peter is quiet next to them, half-listening to Harley, half-observing this weird family, with a bit of envy in his expression. His eyes meet Steve's and they look a little worried and a lot thankful. 

Steve seeks comfort in the warm presence of his wife, searching her hands and fiddling with her fingers. He listens halfheartedly to the discussion going on between her, Pepper, Laura and Clint. They're already about three drinks down. It's animated.

Lila joins her cousin by the fireplace and they resume their whispering chatting, building a world of their own. It's domestic and familiar, a scene Steve has seen many times before.

It's so quiet everyone almost startles when the bell finally rings. Steve rushes to get the door before Tony notices, even though Tony doesn't seem to care much about it, still in a deep conversation with Lila by the fireplace.

Steve struts about and sticks out his chest, he likes making an impression on Tony's boyfriends. His son is worse than any daughter, he needs to look out for him.

He opens the door.

"Tony!" He shouts grumblingly, eyes possibly sending daggers. "There's a huge bunch of flowers at the door."

"Is there a body carrying those flowers?" Tony shouts back from the living room.

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. "Possibly."

"I'm coming right away."

Tony hops over to the front door and throws himself at the man, pushing him backward and stumbling outside. "Tony wai—humph," the man protests. "Take those flowers or move away, you're gonna make me fall back."

Tony grabs the bouquet and holds the man's hand firmly. "Thank you, honey." He says huskily.

"They're not for you, dumbass, but for your grandmother."

"Nana doesn't need flowers." Tony pouts. 

"But she likes them very much." Sarah interrupts and takes the flowers from Tony's hands with a huge smile. "Thank you, young man." She smells the bouquet and walks back happily inside to put them in a vase.

Steve looks at them sternly. The scene is awkward and quite unusual. Insulting his son right in front of him during their first encounter is quite a way to try and make a good impression on Steve. That's a change, perhaps. At least he doesn't seem to take Tony's bullshit. Maybe that's a good thing? Steve isn't really sure.

Tony takes that opportunity to push his lover backward, walking away from the house, hoping for a short moment of intimacy before the big introduction.

He grabs the lapels of the man's coat and kisses him, shoving his tongue inside the his mouth, nuzzling into his neck and rubbing his cheek against his clean-shaven face. He's eager and clumsy and looks so happy at that moment, grin undying on his face. Happier than Steve has ever seen him. The man is startled and lets Tony manhandle him at first, a bit overwhelmed by Tony's forwardness. Although he looks embarrassed and slightly anxious, perhaps, if the way his eyes keep darting to Steve is any indication.

Finally the man finds the strength to push Tony off of him so he can breathe and stares into his eyes. "Let me say hello to your dad, at least."

Steve wonders if they realize they're at hearing distance. He guesses they don't.

"Are you that impatient to be shovel-talked?" Tony teases, arms curled around the man's neck. He keeps kissing him softly, planting pecks on the corners of his mouth, on his nose and along his jawline. The air is warm between them and Steve can see the white of their breath dancing around them. He doesn't mean to stare, just can't help it. He hates them a little, all those people who lay their fingers on his son.

"No, but that's the reason why I'm here tonight, am I not?" The man says and Tony laughs and tightens his embrace. "And he's kind of glaring at us right now."

Was he? 

Tony laughs again. "He's seen it all before."

And if that isn't the understatement of the century. Yeah. Tony's had his lot of fucked-up boyfriends, some of them found it extremely clever to send him pictures or videos of Tony in embarrassing positions—to say the least—to get back at him. For whatever reason they to get back at him. Gruesome pictures and videos, if he may say so, some of them when Tony was still underage. So yeah, he's seen it all before, literally.

"Yeah, but..." The man dares another glance at Steve and puts his hands on Tony's waist. "That's rude?"

Tony buries his face in the crook of his lover's neck and giggles. "Believe me, you'll have all night to get scared off by my dad, he's gonna hate you whatever you do so you shouldn't bother."

"That's comforting..."

"I've missed you so much." Tony slurs and rubs himself against his lover, taking his hand and placing it on his crotch. The man is properly shocked. Steve... not so much. He knows what his son is like.

"Your dad!" He almost shrieks.

Tony smirks against the man's plush lips and lets go of his hand.

It's an impressive man that stands before Steve right now, a couple of steps down from him. He's about Tony size, straight and earnest, modest. Dark eyes staring straight into his. The man holds a firm hand to Steve that he doesn't shake. Steve would rather frown at him and see his face lose countenance but the man keeps a stern and confident stance, his hand stretched forward, and doesn't back down.

He's neat, clean-shaven, his hair cut clear, impeccably dressed in his navy blue uniform. He looks straight into Steve's eyes and there is something soft about his expression, perhaps the beginning of an inviting smile. In other circumstances maybe Steve would have liked him. His eyes flicker to his epaulettes.

"Trying to deprecate me, colonel?" He says with a smirk, although it stings a little. Steve could have made a career for himself in the police if it wasn't for the tantrums he pulled because of Tony. He had it in him. He doesn't regret making that choice though, don't misunderstand him.

The man startles and glances at his own shoulders bearing the rank insignia that few commoners would recognize. "N-no." He stammers. "I was just in a hurry and didn't have the time to change."

The man doesn't look like a poser though. Perhaps it was one of Tony's ideas? Perhaps his son thought Steve would have more trust in someone from the military. Or that he would have been impressed by the prestige. How wrong could he have been! Tony could be dating the president, it wouldn't have changed anything.

Colonel clean-and-tidy is still holding his hand to Steve who finally shakes it with a strict nod. The man's handshake is strong and determined.

"Steve Rogers." He says in a deep low voice.

The colonel answers with a similar nod. "James Rhodes."

"Nice to meet you, James. Come on in!" Steve says with a caustic grin.

Sarah sneaks past him and shakes the man's hand as well, holding it enthusiastically between her two hands. "For God's sake, Steve!" She scolds. "Give the man some slack!" Then she addresses him. "Good evening James! You're very welcome here! Please come in!"

Steve crosses his arms and sticks out his chest. He glares. The man hesitates. Tony puts his hands on each sides of his lover's shoulders and pushes him forward. "Are you done with your cockfight, now?" He teases amusedly, looking straight into Steve's eyes. "I'm starving. And cold."

Tony bounces excitedly, hands invading the entrance's space. "So..." Tony starts. "Dinner first, introduction later?" 

The man nods in agreement. "Hum... I'd like to change first, if that's okay?" He's asking Tony but his eyes flicker to Steve and Sarah. 

"Of course!" Sarah interjects. "Your room is ready upstairs."

"I'll show you around." Tony says with a smile and takes the man's bag in his hand, along with his own that had been somehow discarded and forgotten in the entrance hall.

Steve's shoulders slump with disappointment. He feels an inappropriate pang in his chest. "You're not staying with us?" He asks, addressing Tony. Even though he kinda suspected.

"I've asked Nana if we could sleep at hers." Tony answers, already climbing the stairs. "It's easier. I'll come by on Sunday. Don't worry!"

Steve pouts and says nothing. Sarah rubs a comforting hand on his shoulder.

A few—long—moments later, both men are marching down the stairs like crowned heads. Everyone is already sitting at the table, starving. They all look upwards to them eagerly as they make quite an entrance.

The man—James—is walking first, looking embarrassed. Tony is following him excitedly, looking smug. His skin is flushed, his hair tousled, his lips are wet and swollen, his eyes glint with something lewd and there's a satisfied grin on his face. He has absolutely no shame at all.

"Everyone," Tony yells, hands on James's shoulders again. "This is Rhodey."

The man makes an embarrassed grimace meant to be a smile and greets them all with a splayed hand. Tony pushes him toward the table. Steve made sure they sat as far from each other as he possibly could and is fairly proud of it but Tony bypasses him and grabs Peter's shoulders, who blushes delightfully, and gently ushers him to his own assigned seat to take his place next to James.

No-one says a word. Peter complies and babbles awkward apologies. James lowers his head embarrassedly. Tony smirks. Steve grits his teeth. 

When everyone is settled, Tony starts introducing them, starting with his kids. "So this is my ray of light, Harley and my little princess, Morgan. Sunshines of my heart. My poop and my fart."

"Thank you, dad." Harley snarks with a disgusted face. "That was pretty graphic. Enjoy your meal everyone."

Tony shakes his head in ignorance and keeps introducing everyone. "This is Pepper, my heart, my soul, my second-half, future wife and mother of my next-of-kin."

Pepper hides behind her exasperated hands. 

"This is my sexy mother Peggy and my aunt Laura, my uncle Clint. My sis and best friend forever Lila," He continues matter-of-factly, "her brother Cooper might make a call later tonight, my two nieces. Don't be fooled by their cute faces, they're monsters disguised as little girls..."

The girls stick out their tongues at him and get nicely reprimanded by Mama Rogers. 

"And this is, err... What's your name, gorgeous?" Peter takes a long moment before realizing Tony was addressing him. He points at himself. "Hum... _me?"_

"Yeah _you!"_ Tony confirms, rolling his eyes, "who else is gorgeous in here?"

"hum, Peter?" Peter hesitates. 

"Oh don't ask me!" Tony teases, making the boy blush. "And last but not least, my Nana, the best cook on earth, best mom in the universe, the most fearsome person in here." 

"Stop it, my boy! You're gonna make me blush."

"tis not born the one who will make Nana blush." He says solemnly and then points at Steve. "I'm not introducing you to my dad, I guess you guys have already made acquaintance." His smile is taunting on his face when he bores his eyes in Steve's challengingly.

Dinner is lively and mostly good-humored, as always when Tony and his children are here. They mostly monopolize the conversation though and others can only speak when Tony occasionally flirts—openly—with James and is, de facto, silenced. They have more or less held hands under the table during the entire meal, if Steve can work out their position fine. Well, _Tony,_ at least, held James's hand the entire meal and spent the whole night stuck to his side, head rubbing on his shoulder.

Mostly the talks resolve around Harley's project, frequently interrupted by his and his father's banter, along with their interminable squabbles. Everyone gets a few moments of respite when Tony stops taunting him to nuzzle against his lover's face. Sometimes he kisses his cheek, occasionally licks his ear, and makes the man blush, although he's too dark-skinned for people to notice.

"Ew. Dad, gross!" Morgan exclaims a few time while throwing her napkin at her father.

Tony throws it back at her but can't aim right. It reaches Harley who throws it back at him, along with some food. "She's right, Tony. You're fucking gross and making everyone uncomfortable."

"It's _dad_ for you, brat! Who says you can call me by my first name?" Although Harley has been calling his father by his first name practically his whole life. 

"I'll call you dad when you act like one."

"Says the guy who just wasted Nana's food to assault me physically. That's fucking rude and immature, man. Even from you. Did you see that, Nana?"

"It's alright, Harley honey," she defends him. "I'm not mad at you," she says gently and then her eyes narrow, "but you're cleaning the floor after dinner."

Harley sniggers. His sister is taunting her father.

Tony lets out an outraged noise and looks mock-offended. "Dad! They're being mean to me!" He whines. "Tell'em off!"

"Oh I'm most certainly _not_ getting involved." Steve exclaims, smile huge on his lips. He missed this. He misses them so much. It's only been two years since Harley left home.

"I'm baffled," Tony protests, "by so much ingratitude from all of you, guys. My own family, my flesh and blood... This is the last time I'm spending Thanksgiving here, I'm warning you! I'll have a nice and quiet dinner with my husband's family from now on," he adds. "Where no-one is fucking _rude_ to me."

Everyone rolls their eyes. "Ahem." James interrupts. "Excuse me?"

Tony jerks his head on the side to meet his boyfriend's questioning gaze. "Oh yeah," he mutters teasingly, "you have yet to propose, my mistake." He drinks a sip of his juice, hiding his flushed face behind the huge glass of red liquid. His smile is smug however and self-satisfied. "It can't be far off."

Aaaaand that's done.

For people who don't know Tony yet, he meant it. Every. Fucking. Word. 

And yeah, that's pretty much Tony-like to blurt something like that at a Thanksgiving dinner where his boyfriend met his in-laws for the first time.

There is a short moment of awkwardness floating in the air. The one who's the most shocked is probably the one who's concerned, judging by the way he wiggles embarrassedly on his seat and tries to smother a happy smile, wiping his clammy hand on his face.

Steve's stomach churns again. Because... Marriage, for fuck's sake!

The rest of dinner is relatively calm. Except for that one epic moment when Tony managed to make it awkward again and everyone squeaked with embarrassment on their chairs. 

"So, Petey pie, what's up with you, cutie? Why are you blessing us with your presence tonight?"

Peter stammers. "Hum... I err... I usually spend Thanksgiving with my uncle and aunt but he's had an attack and is in hospital. She's with him. I'm not allowed to be there."

Tony makes a face. "Uh, that's a bummer... What about your parents?"

"They're dead."

It casts a chill in the room.

Tony's smug face fades bitterly, his smile dies down and he sinks into his chair, looking down. Everyone babbles condolences and sympathies. One person, however, is truly empathetic and it's Tony himself. His eyes flicker with pain. He pales and turns an apologetic face to Peter. They share a soft, understanding gaze. It's a touching moment that only Steve notices. Because Steve, and maybe Sarah, are the only ones here who truly understand Tony, who _know_ what Tony's been through.

When dinner comes to an end and everyone starts getting up from the table, Tony slips away to the living room and slouches on the huge couch while everyone else gathers around James—or _Rhodey—_ and starts harassing him with questions. Harley joins his father on the couch. Tony turns the TV on and puts on some baseball recap, Harley leans against him and Tony curls his arms around him silently, eyes captivated by what's on the screen. Steve watches the both of them quietly, feeling a surge of warmth in his chest. It's been a while since he's seen the two of them like this. They're father and son but they're more like brothers. He joins them on the couch and sits in the middle, wrapping his arms around them both. It's their thing, the three of them, their moment. Steve and his son and grandson, or rather his two sons. He remembers when he played pitch-and-catch with them in the backyard. He remembers spending hours on this couch or the one at home telling them about the rules, watching games together, shouting at the referee. Those are ones of his best memories. 

Harley rapidly frees himself from Steve's embrace and crosses his arms and his legs, sinking into the couch and Tony snuggles against Steve and nestles into his neck. His feet are stroking Steve's calves and his hand is rubbing the inside of his thigh. Steve nuzzles in his soft hair and Tony hums against him, burrowing himself into Steve's embrace, seeking the protective warmth of him. Just like he's always done. It's probably weird, to see a thirty-eight-old man act like this around his father but that's the way Tony acts around Steve and no-one even blinks at them anymore.

"I love you, daddy." He whispers in Steve's ear, a little too sensually, and then he nudges Harley in the knee. "Hey! Punk!" He says louder. "Love you too." 

Harley grumbles. "Shut up Tony!"

* * *

Some things need to be done. They're not funny but they must happen, one way or another, and Steve would rather do them sooner than later. 

Talking with James in private is one of them.

Steve waits for everyone to get tired of harassing the poor man and grabs his chance as soon as he spots him on his own. He seizes him by the arm, a strong and threatening grasp on him. 

"You wanna see the stars?" He asks but it's not really a question. The man startles and looks at him confusedly at first but then he nods slowly and Steve leads them both outside in the backyard.

"So, let's cut the crap," he starts. "What are your intentions toward my son?"

James lets out a surprised laugh and glares at him. "Tony is a middle-aged man. I think he doesn't need your approval and can perfectly handle himself."

"That's where you're mistaken, son," Steve growls. "Because grown-ass man or not, don't think I won't do everything in my power to get him away from you if I suspect anything fishy." He glares at him threateningly, invading his personal space.

James lowers his stare and pinches his lips. "I'll never hurt him." He mutters hoarsely.

"Of course, you will." Steve deadpans. "Even if you don't mean to..." James licks his lips in annoyance and stares back into Steve's eyes. "Are you gonna propose?" Steve asks, possibly sending daggers with his stare.

The look in James's eyes is challenging. "Maybe I am." He says defiantly. 

Steve sounds awfully cynical and he hates that. "It's not his first marriage, you know?" 

"I know."

Steve raises curious, though skeptical, eyes to him. "So he's told you about his exes...?" 

James tilts his head on the side. "Some."

"And so you think you know everything about him now?"

The man slides his tongue over his teeth and pinches his lips again. "I never said that." He rasps and his voice sounds hurt.

Steve lets the silence linger between them and studies him for a while. "I'm gonna break it to you, James.' He finally says, words hitting like an axe. "You don't know shit about him!"

James's eyes glimmer with something that looks forlorn. He doesn't back down however and takes his time to answer.

"I'm pretty sure I know a great deal."

Steve studies him again and smiles, an ugly and bitter smile.

"Nah... " He replies, shaking head. "You _think_ you do."

Two dark eyes glimmer with rage. "We've been seeing each other for two years now. I've known him from college." James—Rhodey explains, anger controlling the speed of his speech. "I know who he is and I know what to expect from him."

Steve chuckles mirthlessly. "How long have you been staying together, and I mean really _living_ together? A week? Two at the most? How much time a month do you actually spend together? Uh?" Steve spats. "You have no fucking clue!"

There's a heavy silence before Steve explains himself. "He's—" His voice falters as he remembers. "He's had a difficult childhood." It's a vague, really vague euphemism but Steve doesn't know how to say it differently. 

"Yeah, I know." James answers is soft sigh.

"He's told you about it?" Steve asks disbelievingly.

"Not, really no."

He's never told Steve either. Although Steve knows.

"He won't." He says, sounding dramatic. "Ever." And he lets the words sink in the man's brain. And in his heart. Because that's what's gonna happen. Sooner or later. They're gonna break each other's heart and Steve will have to rake his son off the floor again. "But you're gonna have to live with it anyway. Everyday. Of. Your. Fucking. Life. You're gonna have to Iive with it without ever knowing anything about it."

There's a slight tremor in the man's hands.

"We both know Tony is a lot to handle. And that's an understatement." Steve continues. "Are you strong enough?" He challenges. "Because that's what's gonna happen: he's an alcoholic and promiscuous. He's gonna lie to you. He's gonna manipulate you. You and the people around you. He's gonna cheat on you. He's gonna go berserk on you, cry hysterically, sulk for days. He'll have nightmares. He'll hurt himself... And there won't be anything you can do to make things better."

James clenches his jaw. He knows what Steve says is true.

"I just want to make him happy." He whispers.

"Don't we all?" Steve exclaims, being a little sarcastic.

It's true, though. Not all of Tony's exes were assholes, but they whole broke their fingers trying to break that armor he built around himself. And Steve, well, there is nothing he wants more in life than see his son happy. "I've heard that before, you know?" He says hoarsely, voice broken with hurt and disillusion. Steve would like to believe, so much. "Every fucking time!" He continues. "And yet—"

"I really mean it." James insists.

"Of course you do..." Steve answers bitterly. "But you _won't._ Make him happy, I mean... Can you live with that?"

There is a fire that burns in his dark eyes and says _I'll die trying._ It doesn't put Steve's heart at rest though.

"I know Tony!" He starts, "I've known him for years and nothing about what you're telling me tonight is new to me. I _know_ what to expect and what not to expect."

Steve nods and steps back. "Well, if you're strong enough then. If you can handle him, he'll give you everything. Everything he has. No-one loves like my son does." Steve finally says in a choked out whisper. "So, make sure you deserve that love."

James clenches his jaw and nods determinedly. "I will." He says, hands turned into fists and shaking a little.

"Okay great." There is nothing left to be said, Steve thinks. "But remember this though," he growls threateningly. "I've seen my son covered in bruises, lying on a hospital bed." An enraged fire burns in James's eyes again. "So let me get this straight. I'd rather spend the rest of my life in prison than seeing that again. I don't mind facing God's wrath if that means my son is safe." The man nods and they share an understanding look. "You don't fucking scare me, colonel. Remember that!"

"Copied, Captain."

The mood is morose when they get back. James's smile vanished for good. Steve's stomach is still churning with worry. Inside, in comparison, the atmosphere is lighthearted. There's some music playing. Tony is dancing with his daughter and his nieces. Clint is trying to invite his wife on the improvised dance floor. Peggy and Pepper are in an animated discussion with Lila and Peter is chatting Sarah up, along with Harley. The two young men seem to get along well.

When Tony sees them back he scurries to Steve and grabs his hand. He's floating around him, his steps light as feathers. "Dance with me, dad." He slurs, whispering seductively into his ear. 

"You know I can't dance." Steve says in a pout but smiles to him anyway. He just can't help it.

Tony leans into him and sighs sensually. "You used to make me dance all the time though," he says with a husky voice, "carrying me on your feet."

"I was just indulging you." Steve answers but he's already curling his arms around his son. Unable to resist his charms.

"Indulge me again, then." Tony begs, looking straight into his eyes with those chocolate browny puppy eyes. 

Steve chuckles, heart melting. "I am not carrying you on my feet!" He protests.

Tony smirks but blushes a little. "You know what I mean," he says softly. "Besides, I do intend to offer you my first dance at my wedding. So you better start training now."

Steve chuckles, ignoring that remark, but takes his hand and they start dancing, Tony leading the way, manhandling the huge bulk of him around, because Steve cannot properly dance.

"What are you doing, Tony?" Steve asks after their first spin.

Tony is evasive, eyes flickering away. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean _this!_ Moving to Washington, getting married..."

His son's attention focuses back on him. "I'm happy, dad." As simple as that.

"Are you? Really?" Steve asks and wishes he didn't sound so worried.

"He's good to me!"

"I've heard that before, Tony." He's a little loud, because he can feel some stares.

"It's this different this time." Tony answers nonchalantly, making him swirl again.

"Different how?" Steve snaps. "I've heard that too. Too many times to count."

Tony grins sheepishly. "He's my age, for starters."

"Great! I feel so much better now."

Tony laughs and it sounds lighthearted and beautiful and no less worrying but he continues. "He doesn't lie to me. He doesn't hit me. And I'm not lying to myself."

Steve sighs defeatedly.

"I haven't had a drink in eighteen months." Tony carries on. "He listens to me. He never belittles me. He doesn't care about my money. He's not doing drugs, or anything illegal by the way. Sex is fucking amazing and it's never one-sided."

Steve chuckles embarrassedly. "Okay. Way too much information."

Tony's eyes twinkle. "Well, you did ask..."

"I didn't ask about that." Steve protests.

"Yeah you did." Tony snaps back. "Sex is the foundation of a good relationship. And you did ask about my relationship, so—"

Steve shakes the picture away from his thoughts before he interrupts Tony's rambling. "What makes you so sure it's gonna stay like this once you start living together?"

Tony is determined and confident when he answers. "Because I'll _make sure_ it stays like this," he exclaims. "Or I'll get away."

Steve sighs again but this time the fear settles much deeper in his heart. He can say whatever he likes but he's conscious that no matter what he does, or says, Tony will do whatever he likes in the end. Steve has never had any kind of control, or even influence, on Tony's life choices. And all those horrific memories come back to slap him in the face. 

"You certain you're happy with him, son?" He asks defeatedly.

"I'm sure, dad."

"Well," Steve reaches a hand to Tony's face and grabs his chin softly. Tony smiles at him. "Don't screw it up then. And call me! Any time."

Because at the end of the day, that the only thing he can do. Make sure he's be there for him when everything turns sour.

Tony's smile spreads and it's genuine and innocent and so fucking beautiful Steve's heart flutters. "I won't." He says confidently.

Steve looks at his son with pride. Somehow, despite everything, Tony has never given up on love. He's never given up on life. And that, at least, is something Steve can rejoice about.

Maybe Steve did something right in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the next chapters, there will be snippets of Tony's life while growing up with Steve as a father and learning about life... Forget about any plot! 
> 
> Don't hesitate to leave a comment, good or bad! ;-)


	2. Love at first sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not familiar with police procedures and really don't care enough to bother checking it out. Hence, the lack of plausibility in this. I didn't work out the details... Sorry.

You don't choose your family.

Someone said, 'you don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you as you are to them.'

In Steve and Tony's case, that first part is definitely _not_ true. They did choose each other. From the very moment their eyes met, from the very moment their skin touched, they chose each other. And Tony was definitely a gift from God to Steve.

He likes to hope he is to Tony too.

Steve is only twenty-three when he meets Tony for the first time. Freshly out of Policy Academy, it is his first big case as a newbie detective. He is partnered with a seasoned cop, Phil Coulson.

It started with a call from the neighbors. 

Apparently they had been worried for some time, called several times in the past months, for diverse reason. This time they thought they'd heard gunshots but weren't sure. It was a routine case. It should have been, anyway.

It was in a poor, neglected area, the building was run down and looked like a whorehouse and a supermarket for drugs. When the two officers knocked on the door, no-one answered. They called for back-up.

They break down the door... _Three. Fucking. Bodies._ Steve and Coulson are the first ones on the spot. 

It's a blood bath.

There's blood splattered everywhere. Steve hadn't known the human body contained that much blood. Well, he'd known, theoretically. But there's a difference between knowing and _knowing._ About eight bullets have been shot in here, Steve thinks, at least... There's blood on the walls, on the curtains, on the furniture, on the bed. Because it's a one-room apartment, with a huge bed in the middle of it. The furniture is scarce. The decor is plain, not to say inexistent. Everything is dilapidated in here. And the smell... No-one could _possibly_ be living here, could they?

Steve throws up.

Coulson smirks—he's seen it all—and pats Steve on the shoulder. Even the toilet is run down, Steve can't even flush it and the contents of it is probably even worse than the stench of this place, a good thing that it's dark in there... The smell is still pungent, like something has been rotting in there.

It smells like filth and piss. The bed is stained with brownish and yellowish beige smears. There are ropes and handcuffs on the headboard and a pile of dirty plates on the floor next to it. Steve retches again. 

He looks around. The only window has been sealed with wood-boards nailed on the wall. The light dangling from the ceiling is flickering and giving him a headache. He blinks a few times and tries to get used to the dim light to observe the gruesome scene laid out before him. It smells like putrefaction and yet they couldn't have been dead for more than a couple of hours. The bodies are weirdly disposed. It feels like they've been moved. There are tracks on the bloodied floor, and prints. Footprints perhaps, small ones. There's a handprint on the wall. Splayed out.

They shouldn't touch anything before the forensics are here.

"Where's the gun?"

"Didn't find it."

"How is this even possible? The door was locked from inside. There was a fucking bolt on it!"

Steve half-listens. Something feels weird. He can't pinpoint it. "Did you look under the bed?" He asks. 

"Yeah. Nothing there."

"You sure?" 

Because Steve thinks he spots some bloodstains that shouldn't be there. That couldn't _possibly_ be there... 

Without thinking he crouches down and looks. And looks again. And again. Did something move? He bends down and lowers his back, trying to get his head under the bed.

He gasps in horror. Or in fear?

Two huge glimmering marbles are staring at him in the dark. He rushes out from under the bed and straightens up.

"What's up Rogers?" Coulson asks worryingly. "You look pale."

Steve gasps again. "There's a kid." He chokes out. A barely audible whisper.

"What?"

"There's a kid." Steve repeats, voice shivering with lingering fear and revulsion.

Coulson pales too. He swallows. "Say again."

"There's a _kid_ under _that bed."_

Coulson bends his knees and glances under the bed with his flashlight, where Steve indicated with his hand.

He straightens up in a jerk. "Fuck!" He exclaims and presses his hand on his face, wiping his mouth anxiously. He sighs. His eyes revulsed for a split second.

The two officers look at them questioningly, aghast. One of them walks over to the bed, hands trembling. 

"Be careful!" Coulson snaps. "The kid's got a gun." The officer stops in his tracks and freezes.

Something churns in Steve's stomach. He looks at the bed, the handcuffs, the smears of blood and piss and shit and whatever it was that stained it and sucks in a shuddering breath. He glances at his partner and they share a look. Coulson wipes his face again. He's sweating and there's a tremor in his jaw as he stares at the bed. "Shit..." He whispers.

Steve needs to take that kid away from here.

He crouches next to the bed and crawls underneath, as much as he can. The kid is staring at him. Steve can only see the glint of his eyes in the darkness. He hears the kid gasp and distinguishes a scrawny shape huddled up against the wall. The kid's crawling back and curls up on himself, gun pointed straight at Steve. 

"Don't do anything stupid, Rogers!" Coulson growls. "He could blow up your face."

Call it faith or intuition or reckless stupidity but Steve _knew_ at that moment that he was doing the right thing. He likes to think God guided his steps then.

He doesn't move a limb and stares at the kid as gently and reassuringly as he can. "Hey there." He calls with the softest voice. "I'm Steve."

The kids crawls back again and stretches his arms, tightening his hold on the gun. He's pressing on the trigger. Steve gasps. "Do you understand me?"

The kid doesn't answer but Steve can see in the way his eyes glimmer that he does. "I'm not gonna hurt ya." He says. "I promise." It's an empty promise though. Steve cannot give him any guarantee and he realizes, as soon as the words get out from his mouth, that all the people who got him where he is now probably said the same thing to him.

The kid's breathing hitches and accelerates. He keeps his gun pointed at Steve.

Coulson grows restless next to him. "Get up, son! Don't get your fucking face blown! Wait for back up, for God's sake!"

Steve ignores him. "I'm a policeman." He tells the kid softly. "Do you wanna see my badge?" The kid tenses. Steve crawls back from under the bed and takes his own gun. He shows it to the kid from afar. "See? This is my gun." He throws it away. "I'm unarmed now. Can I show you my badge?"

He bends over and sees the kid nod slowly, the gun still pointed at him. He shows him the badge and starts talking. "I just got it. This year." He says proudly. "I always wanted to be a policeman." He smiles to himself, remembering playing cops with his older sister in his parents' backyard. "Now, I'm a detective. I'm Detective Rogers. Tis' swell, ain't it?"

The kid doesn't react but Steve continues.

"I'm just twenty three, you know. This is my first case. I used to play cops with me sister and now I get to do it for real. Isn't that awesome? What about ya, kiddo? What do like to play?

The kid doesn't answer but his breathing hitches again and he loosens his grip on the gun.

"You're safe with me, you know? I'll get you out of here and I'll protect ya, I promise." He holds his hand, little finger raised as a testimony of his trustworthiness. "You want to give me that gun? You could get hurt with that, you know? It's dangerous."

The kid studies him for a moment.

"It's okay if you don't want to. We can wait. I'll wait with you, if you want. You're safe now. I promise."

They stare into each other's eyes for a long moment. Steve can sense Coulson's restlessness above him. The kid is still pointing his gun at Steve but Steve is weirdly calm and confident. They keep staring at each other and Steve sees the moment when the kid takes a leap of faith. He finally drops the gun in Steve's direction.

Steve's heart leaps and races in his chest. He can feel it beat at his temples and he hears himself and Coulson sigh in relief. 

He takes the gun. It's loaded and the safety's been unlocked. A shiver runs through him. He gives the gun to his partner and tries to reach for the little boy. He's naked, Steve realizes, and shivering. He holds his arms to him. "Come here." He says intuitively. "Come here." It's a soft, reassuring whisper.

The boy hesitates but finally bolts out from under the bed and into Steve's arms. Steve barely has the time to notice how scrawny he is. His ribs and hipbones jut out gruesomely. He's barely four, maybe five years old. He has bruises all over his body and traces of blood on his hands, his feet and his face, and on the inside of his thighs. His dark hair is tousled, sticking up. His sickly pale skin is smeared with filth and grime. Steve doesn't even want to know how long's it's been since the kid's had a bath, or a meal.

He doesn't care, because the bony little arms curl around him, the kid clutches to Steve like his life depends on it and buries his head in the crook of his neck, shivering like a leaf.

Coulson lets out a long relieved sigh as if he hadn't been breathing all this time. Steve wraps his arms around the kid protectively and squeezes him tight against his chest. The boy is scrawny and feather-light. So fragile Steve could crush his bones if he squeezed a little too hard. He holds him protectively and breathes him in, instinctively, and despite the grime, the kids smells like home. His scrawny legs are clamped around his waist and he snuggles against him. Steve sucks in a shuddering breath. He can feel the kid's heart beating fast against his chest. So fast he's afraid it might stop. He feels a surge of protectiveness overwhelm him. His eyes prickle and he can feel a tear drip down his own cheek.

His first thought as this moment is that he's never letting this kid go, ever. Not ever. And everything else around them becomes a blur.

"Found something." He hears Coulson say in the distance, after some time. "Oh shit... Fuck."

Steve spins around, the kid's clutched to him like a monkey, gripping so hard Steve doesn't even need to carry him. "What?" 

"Guess whose son's been missing for the past four months?"

Steve's entire body shivers. He runs a hand in the boy's sticky hair and tightens his hold around him. "Shit..." He whispers while pressing the kid's head against him.

"I guess this is where our case is being taken away from us." Coulson says bitterly.

How Steve couldn't care less at that moment...

They've locked down the perimeter. The forensics's here. The ambulance as well. The kid needs to go to a hospital.

Except whenever someone, even just barely, tries to pull him away from Steve's grasp. The kid howls.

He _h_ _owls._ And kicks, and scratches, and bites, and gesticulates until they end up letting him go so he can run straight back into Steve's arms.

After several attempts and about half an hour, they finally decide to take on the whole package and Steve accepts to accompany the boy to the hospital. It's impossible for them to buckle their seat belt because the kid won't let Steve go and keeps clutching to him like a mussel to a rock during the whole drive. Steve whispers reassurances in the kids's ears and he can feel his body relax in his embrace. The boy almost purrs with contentment and starts dosing off when they arrive.

It takes all of his patience—and everyone else's, incidentally— and a lot a sweet-talking on his part, for Steve to manage to convince the boy to let him go and get checked out by the nurses.

It breaks his heart to let him go but he has to. The boy's not his. He has a father, who's probably worried sick about him. He has a family. Steve's no-one to him. Just the first guy who spotted him at a crime scene.

It's past four in the morning when Steve finally leaves the hospital. If he listened to him he'd run back inside and take the kid away from there. He'll take him with him. Forever. But he's reasonable and gets home quietly.

That night he doesn't go back to his place. He goes home to his parents'. His ma wakes up and warms him a hot meal without questions. He eats silently under her protective stare and wipes his mouth without a word. Just an inaudible "thanks ma" mumbled softly.

Upstairs, in his old teenage room, the one that was his not a long time ago and still looks and smells exactly the same as when he left it, buried in the familiar sheets of his bed, he cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, this feels a little bit Dexter-like and this is totally where I got my inspiration from but don't worry, this is as far as the comparison goes. Hopefully, Tony doesn't turn out to be a psychotic serial killer. ;-)
> 
> Although...


	3. Bedtime stories

Steve waits all but four days before he finally gives in and decides to go and see how the boy is doing at the hospital.

"What do you think, sis? Should I take the bunny or the bear?"

"Take the bunny! It's cute and has long ears that kids can suckle on."

Steve hums pensively, bunny tucked under his arm. "How about that greenish elephant over there? It has a trunk." He turns to his sister who shows him an unimpressed expression. "Or that blue octopus? That'd be more original, don't you think?"

Laura sighs.

"Take that fucking bunny, Steve, for God's sake!" She exclaims annoyedly. "We've been in this store for, like, forever. I need a break." She makes a frustrated noise. "And it's this late already, I have to get home and make dinner for my kids."

"Right. Right." Steve follows her, still carrying the bunny in his arms, and spots another fantastic stuffed animal he wished he had had as a kid. "But—" His sisters interrupts him with a gentle but firm hand on his wrist.

"Take the bunny." She says softly, smile gentle. "He'll love it." 

Steve takes the bunny in the end and a bunch of other things as well. If the boy doesn't like them then he'll give them to his nephew and niece, he figures.

Once in the car, he buckles his seat and feels insecure again. "I should have taken the bear, right?" 

His sister sits on the driver's seat and grabs the steering wheel. "The bunny's fine, Stevie." She says in a bored sigh. "The boy probably has a full room of stuffed animals already, anyway. You're gonna see Howard Stark's son, remember? It won't matter what you give him."

"Right." Steve says, trying to reassure himself. Of course... What is he thinking? Of course he won't need a stupid bunny. He just... He'd like to bring something nice to make him feel better, to bring a smile to his face but after everything that happened the kid certainly doesn't need a fucking bunny. A shiver runs through him.

"That's classified information though," he adds, "I should have never told you this."

Laura turns to him and chuckles before turning on the ignition. Then, before starting moving the car backward, she puts a comforting hand on his knee and looks up into his eyes. "The boy has been held captive for more than three months. He's witnessed all that horror. He's probably been neglected, mistreated, abused. He must have been terrified. Perhaps he felt abandoned, by his own family, by everyone. He's probably lost his faith and his trust in adults too but he seemed to trust you. I think he'll be happy to see you, to see that you really care and haven't given up on him. Bunny or no bunny."

That kind of makes sense. And yet he's also very aware how weird going there looks. But he can't stop himself. 

Steve is not even sure he'll be allowed to see him anyway. The boy's under police protection and Stark hired private bodyguards as well. He did ask but...

"Can I borrow some of the kids' books, too?"

Laura rolls her eyes and chuckles. 

Perhaps it's a little too much what he brings over to the hospital but what do you give to a five-year-old boy who's been kidnapped and sequestered for almost four months?

He doesn't need to ask directions. He knows in which department the boy's room is and walks there directly. At the entrance of the long corridor he spots two private guards and shows them his badge. He called beforehand so they check his identity and nod silently to let him pass. He heads for the nurses' office first, to introduce himself. He recognizes a nice blond woman who welcomes him warmly.

"Oh, you're the policeman who found him. He'll be happy to see you. He's been talking about you a lot, you know?"

Steve doesn't know what to think about that. His heart makes a funny loop in his chest.

"He has?'

"All the time. That's really nice of you to come, he doesn't have many visitors."

Steve doesn't know what to think of this either and his heart sinks. Surely the son of Howard Stark must have plenty of people who would be there for him. Especially in those particular circumstances.

The nurse leads him to the boy's room. He can see two colleagues and two other armed men, guarding the entrance. He shows his badge and ID again and they open the door for him, the nurse comes with him.

Steve is nervous at first, and when he steps inside and takes a look around, he's a little perplexed. It's not that he expected they would have moved the boy's entire room in this hospital room but he thought at least, he would have had some things to make it a little livelier. He had thought the boy would be showered with gifts. He had imagined a room filled with bunches of flowers and colorful toys. He had imagined his father and his whole family would be there, at his bedside. The same way Cooper's room had been when he broke his wrist. But the room is bland, plain and desperately empty and the kid's quietly sitting on his bed while doing and undoing a Rubik's cube with mind-blowing rapidity.

Steve hesitates, wavering on his feet, carrying two bags of stuff.

The blond nurse is already by his side. "Hey, Tony." She says softly while checking his charts. She takes out his IV and palpates his arms. "How are you today?" The boy shrugs in reply. "There's someone for you." She says with a smile. Steve still hasn't come inside the room yet. The boy raises his eyes from his colorful cube and his wide dark marbles meet Steve's. 

"Hey kiddo!" Steve mutters embarrassedly. His heart is thumping in his chest.

The boy gasps at his sight and leaps out of bed to run to him. Steve has dropped his bags and is prepared to catch him in his arms but the boy makes a sudden awkward halt a few feet in front of him. He almost stumbles because of the long run-up but doesn't dare touch Steve. Instead he looks up at him pleadingly, as if asking for permission. He swings on his feet, one after the other, pulling on his pajamas the way children do when they're being shy or when they want to pee.

Steve crouches down in front of him and doesn't have the time to fully open his arms invitingly before the boy jumps into his embrace and buries his small head in the crook of his neck. Steve curls his arms around him softly and takes a huge whiff of his smell. His lips curl up on their own.

The boy's heart is beating fast against his chest. He feels so scrawny and fragile in his arms. Although his complexion is less pale, Steve noticed. He holds him tight for a couple of minutes before putting him down. The kid straightens his pajamas awkwardly, as if he was being modest around Steve. Even though Steve saw him naked already. Steve melts by the sheer force of so much cuteness under the amused stare of the nurse.

"He really trusts you." She mutters and as she heads towards the door and grabs his arms, pulling him out of the boy's hearing distance. "He hates being touched," she explains, "doesn't let anyone touch him unless it is medically required. And even so he barely allows the strict minimum. He won't allow anyone who's male get close to him." Steve looks at her with a stupefied expression. "It would be great if you could spend some time with him, I think. Maybe try to make him sleep a little."

"What do you mean make him sleep a little?"

"He hasn't been sleeping well since he arrived here. He's exhausted but he's terrified and fights sleep with everything he can. It's bad for his development and slows down his recovery."

They are trying to bring the boy back into real life smoothly. Kid doesn't have any major injury but they keep him under observation nonetheless, mainly because he's been traumatized and underfed and so they can do a battery of tests to get as many evidences as they can about the rapt and the triple murder.

"We'll have to resort to sleeping pills if he doesn't and it's ill-advised for kids this age. It can be extremely addictive."

Steve looks at her with wide open eyes. He's disconcerted. She puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder and smiles.

"I'll do what I can, Ma'am." He finally says, resolutely. Although he has no idea how to make a boy who doesn't want to sleep _sleep._

He walks back inside the room and stares down at the kid bewilderedly. The kid stares up at him with wary hesitancy, eyes so big and bright and filled with hope, Steve's heart sinks again. He notices the bags under his eyes and the glassy color in them. 

"You okay, buddy?" He says for lack of something interesting to say. "Are they treating you nice at the hospital?"

The boy nods quickly.

"Hey," he says, crouching down again to meet him face to face, "your name's Anthony, right?"

The boy shrugs. 

"Would you rather I call you Tony, like the nice nurse?"

He shrugs again.

"Okay." Steve says embarrassedly, wiping his clammy hands on the back pockets of his jeans. He doesn't know what to say. "I like Tony. You don't mind if I call you Tony, then?" The boy shakes his head into a 'no.'

"So what have you been doing Tony?" Steve asks and then points at the Rubik's cube. "You like that?"

The boy nods and Steve chuckles nervously.

"You don't speak, Tony?"

The kid frowns as if stabbed in his ego and pouts. "Yes, I do." He snaps. Steve smiles.

"It's a nice cube. Where did you get it?"

"Dr Cho gave it to me." The boy answers emotionlessly. 

Steve nods. "Wanna show me how it works?"

Tony nods enthusiastically. Still no smile on his face but his expression brightens a little. He hastens to show him how to turn the little cubes so every side is the same color. Suddenly he becomes extremely voluble, jabbering about how to do this very simply, so fast Steve's brain almost short-circuits. When Tony finally closes his mouth and looks at him with questioning eyes. He's as clueless about solving the puzzle as before that interminably verbose explanation.

He scratches his head. "Wow!" He exclaims. "That's impressive! You must be really smart!" He notices. The boy shrugs, pouting a little. "Hey," Steve says softly, lowering his voice a little. He feels a little disconcerted at every one of Tony's unexpected reactions. "I've got something for you. Wanna take a look?"

Tony sucks in a sharp breath and raises his head in a jerk. He looks at Steve questioningly, eyes curious.

"I brought you that nice bunny. So he can keep you company." He explains while taking the bunny out of one of the bags.

Tony frowns and studies it for a moment. "It's a stuffed animal." He finally says, sounding disinterested, like duh, how can something inanimate keep anyone company?

"Yeah." Steve answers while scratching the corner of his mouth nervously. He can feel himself starting sweating.

"Why do you say 'he' like it's a person?" Steve lets his jaw hang open. "How do you know it's male? Does it have genitals?" And now he thinks his eyes look goggled. 

"You don't like it?" He asks tentatively. 

Tony looks at him like he's asked the stupidest question ever. "Stuffed animals are for babies." He just says, equally dispassionate.

It stings a little. Steve thought he would have at least appreciated the gesture but, then, Tony's just a kid. And a smart one too, judging from the way he handled that Rubik's cube. He just wanted to bring some light in his life, put a smile on his face, even the hint of one, and it failed but Steve usually doesn't back down from a challenge.

"Okay," he says in a high-pitched voice. "I'll bring it back to the store if you don't want it."

The kid's face tenses and he snatches the bunny from Steve's hands, clamping it protectively under his arm. Steve smiles again. His sister was right, maybe?

"I brought you a bunch of other things too but there's all for babies. Do you still want them?"

Tony nods furiously, unfazed.

Steve smiles again and together they do the inventory of everything Steve has brought. The boy flickers wide open eyes at everything as if he had never seen any of this stuff before. He studies them diligently with a scientific eye and Steve cannot do anything else but wonder. What kind of kid does this?

"Do you like them?"

The boy gives a quick nod of his head and keeps studying the toys, turning them over in every position to understand the mechanism behind. Steve observes him, eyes filled with wonders. Then, in a surge of guilt, he remembers what the nurse said and realizes that he's doing the exact opposite of what she's asked him to do.

"Hey, buddy." Steve suggests after a while. "I brought some books as well. Would you like me to read you a story?"

The boy turns his head to him in a jerk. He frowns first and then shrugs. "I can read."

Steve smiles. "'Course you can." Although he can't help being a little impressed, still. "But it's nicer when someone else reads it to you, isn't it?" 

Two confused chocolatey eyes stare at him questioningly and Steve is a little unsettled.

"I mean, don't you pa—" He stops, remembering that the kid's mom died during his infancy. "Isn't there someone at home who reads you bedtime stories?"

Tony shakes his head in a 'no.' Steve must have looked at a loss because the kid feels the need to clarify, or perhaps justify. "We don't have any stories at home."

Steve feels a lump forming in his throat. "I see..." He says hoarsely. "Would you like me to read one to you anyway? I promise you it's nice. Or you can read it to me, if you want..."

The kid shrugs but stands up anyway and stares into the bag of books. "Those are books for babies." He says.

"They're nice, though. I like them. Can I pick my favorite?"

Tony looks at him skeptically, wondering how an adult like him could enjoy books 'for babies'. Steve smiles sheepishly and the boy finally nods so he picks up the book his niece and nephew absolutely loved and made him read every time no so long ago. He remembers them laughing hard, pointing at each and every detail on the pages and asking repeatedly what they were, laughing harder and harder when Steve repeated them endlessly. He shows it to the unimpressed boy who shrugs again but seems ready to indulge Steve.

"What do you think? Shall we go over and sit down more comfortably?" He points at the dull, depressingly plain hospital bed in the middle of the empty room with an undetermined yellowish color on the walls.

He's faced with another shrugs, so Steve takes the initiative, he gets up and walks over the bed. He sits down on the chair at the bedside at first and pats on the bed. "Come with me?" He asks with what he hopes is an inviting and reassuring smile. The little boy's only holding up by the incredibly tenacious force of his nerves but Steve can see how tired he is in the way his eyes turn hazy sometimes and how he suddenly tenses up and moves excitedly then.

Tony climbs onto his bed, the bunny clutched under his arm. Steve holds the book to him and starts reading expressively, the way he used to and the boy keeps leaning towards him until he can't move the pages anymore. Naturally and without hesitation, Steve climbs onto the bed next to him and tucks him under his arm. This way he can read the book without nudging the boy's head every time he turns a page. 

Tony doesn't laugh hard, doesn't show any reaction. He doesn't even _smile—_ Steve still has to see his smile yet—he just nods slowly, huddled against Steve with his eyes open wide. After a couple of minutes, however, and barely three pages turned, Steve can feel the feather-light weight of him get limp and heavy in his embrace. When he turns to see if the boy is finally starting to doze off, he can see Tony deeply asleep, thumb in his mouth and instinctively sucking on the tip, and smiles to himself. He hugs the little boy against him and ignores how warm he feels at the sudden surge of affection invading him.

He stays like this for a couple of hours, cuddling with the sleeping boy, afraid to wake him up. Not that it's a constraint to him. He's happily doing it, much too happily, if he may say so. He wouldn't go as far as saying not waking him up was an excuse to stay but the reality is much closer to this than he'll ever want to admit. A good thing today's his day off.

During those hours, he meets the psychologist who has been following the boy since his admission. "I'm impressed," she says when she sees the both of them huddled against each other. "It's a good thing that you're here, detective. He hasn't been getting much company and I think it's essential for him to be able to recover from this. Both physically and emotionally."

"Why are you saying that? Doesn't he have a family?"

She makes a saddened face. "He has a father..." she finally answers, "who's very busy."

Steve is properly and utterly shocked. He has absolutely no word. How can a father whose son has been miraculously found after being held captive for more that three months can do anything other than stay be his side and never leave him again?

"His father doesn't visit him?" He exclaims in an outraged voice, trying without success to keep his judgement out of his tone.

The psychologist tries not to sound as judgy. She sighs inconspicuously and doesn't answer Steve direct question. "There's an old man who comes at odd hours to check on him. I think he works for his father."

Steve is partly outraged, partly distraught. 

"You do realize that you're literally the only person right now who gets to share this level of intimacy with him. He likes you a lot." She says matter-of-factly, to Steve's utter bewilderment. "And you seem already pretty attached yourself." She adds.

"He's an interesting kid. He's sweet." 

"He's smart, isn't he?" She agrees. 

"He _is."_

"It's disconcerting, isn't it? A child this young with that level of intelligence." She says with a fond expression. "We tend to forget that sometimes but he's still a child. A child who needs affection, cuddling and reassurance. A child who needs to be loved and cared for, to be allowed to make mistakes and be innocent and play, discover the world, just as much as any other kid."

Steve doesn't understand why she's saying that to him. He had noticed the kid was smart but how is all that any concern of him? And it's not like he's the one who raises him.

"I hope you'll come to see him again." She finally says before leaving the room.

Steve remains perplexed.

After a moment he finally decides to leave, also because it's way past usual visiting hours. On his way out he meets the old man. His name is Edwin Jarvis, he's probably over eighty. He does work for Howard Stark. He presses his two creased hands on Steve's hand and thanks him profusely for bringing Tony back. When he comes inside the room and sees Tony in the bed, sound asleep, sucking his thumb and cuddling the bunny, he freezes. He looks around, at the bags of toys and pile of books Steve decided to leave there for Tony and rubs his chin. Steve stresses out for a couple of seconds but then the old man's expression softens and if he doesn't really smile, his eyes shine with something like blissful surprise. 

Steve decides he will come back to visit the boy everyday, as long as he's in the hospital.


	4. Different

Steve comes back every day, whenever he can, and since he helps Tony to sleep, they even let him in out of visiting hours. Once or twice, he spent the night.

He also brings books.

The second time Steve goes to visit the boy and starts reading another captivating story, he realizes Tony already knows the book by heart. He knows all of them by heart. Every word.

How many times has he read them in that short interval between Steve's two visits? 

Steve takes the children's books back to his sister then and goes to the library to bring him longer, more complex books. Tony likes adventures, fantastic novels and superheroes. The next day the boy has already finished reading it. Those were books it took Steve days, sometimes _weeks,_ to finish.

By the end of his stay, Tony has read most of Steve's favorite classics.

Steve loves the way his big brown eyes widen and fill with hope and wonders every time he brings him a new one. Tony is such a sensitive and expressive boy, and yet, Steve hasn't seen his smile, still.

Today is his last day and something has been twinging in Steve's chest all day long. 

It's the last time he will be able to visit the boy. 

As a parting gift, Steve bought him his most favorite books of all time. _The Lord of the Rings_. The three volumes. A special edition, with beautiful bindings. He knows the kid is a little too young but, he figured it'd be alright. He's sure he will love them. He also bought _The hobbit_ to start with.

Tony doesn't dare touch them but stare at them with yearning. And then, after glancing at Steve pleadingly, silently asking for permission, he brushes little fingers on the hard cover, discovering slowly the texture, with so much delicacy. His eyes flicker to Steve who smiles back to him.

"I can't have them." He says.

Steve startles and stares at him questioningly. "Why not?"

"My dad won't let me."

A surge of anger rises through Steve.

"You're not allowed to _read?"_

The boy shrugs. "Not stories."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "What do you read then?"

The boy shrugs again. "Science books." 

"Science books?"

The boy nods. "Yeah. Books about physics, astronomy, biology, mechanics... I like those about robotics the most." His eyes sparkle a little and his voice is high-pitched with excitement. "Also, sometimes, Jarvis sneaks in comic books from the library for me and I read them in secret. I have hidden a flashlight in the parquet floor under my bed..."

Steve thinks he forgot how to breathe for a moment. He stares at the little boy with wide open eyes, speechless. "Hey, you know what? It's alright. We can start reading them together if you want and then, perhaps, if I can, I'll ask your dad about it. Okay?"

The boy nods frantically. Steve promises himself he'll try his best.

He crouches down and takes something out of his pocket. "Hey, look!" He exclaims enthusiastically. "I asked your doctors and they said it was okay." He offers the boy a wide smile, expecting a reaction from him but gets none. At least, not the one he expected.

The boy looks at him confusedly, wondering why he seems so excited. He frowns at what Steve's holding in his hand. "What is it?" He asks while glancing at him with his big curious eyes.

"It's a lollipop." Steve answers disconcertedly, smile fading from his lips. He stands up. "Never had a lollipop before?"

The boy shakes his head. 

"It's good! You'll see."

The boy pouts skeptically. He touches the ball with the tip of his finger as if scared to be hurt. "What is it for?"

Steve is beyond startled. "It's a candy." He mutters. The boy doesn't seem to believe him. Steve frowns and thinks and picks up another one from his pocket. "Look, you need to take off the wrapping and then you put it in your mouth and you can lick it until it's gone." As he explains this, he shoves the second lollipop in his mouth to prove him that it is, indeed, good. The he takes it off. "You wanna taste it?"

The boy gives him a shy, hesitant nod and stretches his hand toward the one Steve had in his mouth. Steve laughs. "No buddy. This one's mine." He hands the unused lollipop to him. _"This_ is yours."

Steve helps him get rid of the wrapping and holds it in front of his mouth. The boy grabs his hand and cocks his head, giving the lollipop a tentative lick. And his eyes open wide, flaring with burning fires. Steve chuckles again.

"Good?"

The boy nods frantically and shoves the thing in his mouth, locking it inside.

"You like it?" 

His baby face softens and flushes, the hint of a smile slowly appears on his lips but Steve will never see the rest of it. Steve frowns and crosses his arms, studying him and then he crouches down again and pulls on his cheeks. The boy stares at him bewilderedly. Then he sticks his tongue out. He squints, pulls the tip of his nose up and moves his tongue out of his mouth while making animal noises. 

The boy keeps looking at him dubiously, eyes wide and wary.

Steve makes every goddamned grimace he knows only to be met with a blank, unfazed expression from the boy. He brings his hands to the boy's face and pokes his cheeks.

"You don't smile, do you?"

Tony turns his lollipop in his mouth and shakes his head silently. Steve ignores the little pang in his chest. What kid doesn't smile?

"Why not?"

The lollipop pops out of the boy's mouth. "I don't feel like it." This time Steve can't ignore the heart-wrenching pain that shakes his insides.

"You should try it! It feels really good, you know?" He says hoarsely, at a loss.

The boy shrugs. With two fingers Steve pushes the corners of his mouth upward, the boy let him but his expression remains unconvinced. Steve traces his fingers down the boys cheeks, along his jaw lines and down his neck. There he pokes again. The boy shivers and Steve smiles to him, a fond and gentle smile. Steve keeps brushing his fingers along the boy's flanks and softly pokes at each side of his waist. Tony gasps and squirms.

Steve chuckles. "Hey, you're ticklish!"

The boy frowns as if he thought Steve was taunting him. "What's ticklish?" He asks with a pout.

"It's _that._ " Steve explains while moving his fingers from a distance. "When you feel like laughing and wiggling because I tickle you." 

The boy's frown deepens and Steve grabs his waist to tickle him for real. Tony squirms and yelps, a sound that's not exactly a laugh but close, and runs off to the bed. Steve worries, wondering if he's gone too far.

"Can we start reading the book now?" Tony asks, unfazed, while climbing onto the bed. 

Steve nods and they fall easily back into the routine that has settled between them. Steve sits on the side of the bed and rests one bent leg on it, making sure his shoe doesn't touch the sheets, the other leg is propped on the floor. Tony burrows into his embrace and snuggles against him, the lollipop locked in his mouth, replacing his usual thumb, and bunny tucked under his arms, pressed against him, vital like lifeblood.

Steve starts reading the first lines. Tony is already asleep by the end of the first page.

Steve turns his face to him and watches him sleep, his features suddenly peaceful and relaxed, devoid of the tinge of anxiety that his woken up face bears all the time. He smiles fondly and takes the lollipop out of his mouth to put it on the nightstand. He feels a twinge in his heart.

He lingers.

After reading the first few pages, he's inexorably plunged right back into the book and time distorts and flies by. Minutes becomes hours and Steve forgets, when it feels so right to lie here, with the boy pressed against him, his warmth and the rapid steady rhythm of his heart lulling him. He even nods off a little.

Everything feels so right and simple in this alternate universe, that other dimension that is theirs only.

That is, until he's shaken out of it by a silent glare.

He could feel it, pinning him down. He's woken up in a jerk and his eyes flare open, only to be met with the stern, narrowed gaze of a middle-aged man. A man that Steve thinks he recognizes. He's thin, perfectly dressed, standing eerily straight, like frozen on his spot. His features are worn-out and his skin reddish, damaged by the years. He wears a beige overcoat hiding a dark gray three-pieces suit. Hands in his pockets. His grayish beard and mustache match his combed hair. There is an air, Steve thinks. Although, the resemblance is not striking.

Steve hurriedly shifts Tony's dead weight on the side, laying him delicately on the bed — The boy mumbles in his sleep but doesn't wake up, he snuggles into the pillow and sucks his thumb instinctively, clutching the bunny whose ears are all nibbled — and jumps out of the bed, straightening his clothes embarrassedly.

"I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean—we both dozed off, I guess. I'm sorry if—"

The man interrupts him with a stern, unfriendly nod. "Detective." He says curtly and Steve feels his cheeks heat. He looks down and hates himself for it because he's not one to be impressed usually. No Howard Stark can intimidate him, no matter how much they think they're better than him. The shame creeps nastily in his heart however. Howard looks at him like dirt. "I suppose?" He adds.

Steve nods, putting up a semblance of self-confident dignity to his stance. He rests his hands on his hips and glares back.

The man snorts and it sounds bitter. "I guess I should thank you, then." His eyes are defiant. "For finding and saving my son."

Steve nods. "Just doing my job, sir."

The man doesn't look at him though. His eyes are fixed on Tony. "I shall remember to ask my accountant to write you a check."

Steve blinks a few times. "I beg your pardon?"

Suddenly he has all his attention again and his attention is heavy. "I had placed a reward, you know? Ten millions. For anyone who would bring back my son safe and sound."

Steve's eyes go wide. He feels shaken by a tremor of flaring anger. "I don't want your money, sir." He growls, very much offended. "Like I said. Just doing my job."

"Does your job also requires that you visit the victim everyday at the hospital?"

Steve blushes again and he looks away. "No, I—Of course not! I—"

"That's what I thought." He says curtly and then, after a short moment of heavy silence, he adds, "Thank you, detective." This time it sounds so desperately sincere that it unsettles Steve. "For being there for him."

Steve takes a few steps back and nods again, waving awkwardly on his feet. "I was happy," he hesitates, "to do it." There are so many things he'd like to say to this man but it is not his place to say and he doesn't find the words anyway.

"But I guess your job here is done now." Howard interrupts again. A tinge of authority in the tone. Cold and dry authority. One that is implied, unchallenged and never questioned. 

"I understand, sir." Steve replies but he's lost Howard's attention again. The man is staring at his son and the look on his face is harrowing. Steve suddenly doesn't feel the need to scurry out of here anymore. There's so much desperation in those eyes. "I, um... " he attempts hesitantly. "I bought this set of books for him," he explains as he shows him the trilogy. "I was wondering..."

Howard glances at him furtively but his eyes are back on the sleeping boy before Steve knows it. "My son has no time for those futilities."

Steve's anger flares again. He feels a lump forming in his throat. "Of course." He says resignedly, gritting his teeth. "I'm sorry if I overstepped. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just... I was trying to make him feel better, I guess."

Howard doesn't pay attention to his half-assed apologies, however. He keeps staring at his son with some sort of resigned helplessness. "This is not my son," he whispers, perhaps more to himself than to Steve but Steve is all ears anyway, lending a comforting—figurative—shoulder to the man.

Or not.

"My son's not like that." Howard continues, this time to Steve. Steve squints and swallows his flaring anger. "He's different. He's not like other kids. He's brilliant. Destined to a bright future. I've never seen him suck his thumb before. He's never played with or wanted stuffed animals. Nor did he ever ask to read stupid novels." Something pangs in Steve's chest. "I don't recognize him." The man adds, voice faltering at the end.

"I'm sorry, sir. Mayb—"

"Don't be sorry, detective!" He snaps. "Perhaps it is I... I mean, perhaps there's something that I've missed." Then he stretches his open hand toward Steve. "Thank you for the books" His voice is softer, warmer. His tone more meaningful. "Maybe some leisure time is what my son needs to recover from this." He says while taking the books from Steve's hand. He starts skimming through them.

Steve puts a hand on the man's shoulder and regrets it instantly. How come he allows himself such familiarities with a man of that stature, one who is more than twice his age? He almost takes it off instantly but Howard doesn't react badly, on the contrary, his stance relaxes to the touch.

"He's just a kid." Steve says while patting the man's shoulder, remembering, somehow, the words of the shrink. "It's not too late."

Howard's gaze is fixed on Tony and his hands clench and unclench. "I feel judgement in your voice, detective," he mutters and then turns his intent dark eyes on Steve. Maybe the fire that burns in those eyes now is similar to the one in Tony's. "I love my son, Mr Rogers," he declares with all his intent. "I always wanted nothing but the best for him. No less."

"I never doubted that." Steve says unconvincingly. 

They stare at each other silently, defiantly and after another long and heavy silence, they hear a ruffle. When they turn their heads toward the origin of the noise, Tony is staring warily at the both of them. Silent and still in his bed. He's sitting up, squeezing the little bunny in his arms and nibbling at one of its ear. His eyes flicker between the two of them and his stance grows increasingly worried.

Steve smiles at him and somehow their eyes lock into each other's. "It's alright, kiddo. Your dad and I are just talking." Tony seems to relax a little.

"We're going home, son." Howard interrupts and Tony's gaze immediately turns back to his father. His voice is creepily warm this time. "Did you say thank you to Detective Rogers, son? For the nice books..." he adds. "And the bunny?"

"Thank you, Detective Rogers."

Howard nods approvingly to his son. Perhaps Steve has never seen in his life such a cold exchange between a father and a son. He almost shivers. He looks at Tony. His expression is emotionless and undisturbed but there is something sad lingering in his eyes when he sees that Steve has to leave ultimately.

"I shall not keep you any longer, Detective." Howard finally says. "You must be very busy." Steve nods reluctantly. Howard hands him a card. "Call my accountant so we can settle the money thing."

Steve takes the card out of politeness. "Thank you, Mr Stark. But like I said, I'm not interested. "

"We shall see." Steve's chest constrict. He steps back toward the door, fists unconsciously clenched. "I guess you know the way out." Howard says drily and then he calls out to his son. "Anthony, say goodbye to Mr Rogers."

"Goodbye Detective Rogers."

Steve is about to leave, heart poignantly sinking in his chest. He watches the boy one last time. "Would you be so kind to let me visit again sometimes?" He dares.

And Howard Stark turns to him in a jerk and he smiles, an ugly smile. "Please do so, detective, we'll delighted."

Steve, however, feels like this is the last time he sees the boy.


	5. Lies

Steve honestly never thought he would see Tony again, despite Howard Stark's unwilling invitation, but it is much sooner than expected that their paths cross again. For one very simple reason: the little boy is the principal witness in a kidnapping and triple murder case. And he won't talk to anyone unless Steve is in the room.

This is how rookie detective Steven Rogers and, de facto, his partner Phil Coulson are sorta kinda unofficially back on the case.

Little Tony Stark and his father—and their battery of lawyers—come to testify on camera, just like the procedure demands it when children are being interrogated, no less than four times in two months. The little boy gives a millimeter-accurate description of the room he was being kept in, and of the several places he has been taken to, of the vehicles used to move him from one place to another, of the noises, of the smells, even sometimes the tastes. He can tell them, seconds after seconds, in overwhelming descriptions of his immediate environment at the time, all the steps of his abduction, and what each one of his five senses perceived then. He does so matter-of-factly, and the contrast is unsettling.

He can tell how many people interacted with him, when and how many times. He is able to give them the comes and goes of everyone who came to that room. Mostly the three victims by the way. He can describe with meticulous precision the people who abducted him and those he has seen during those three months, their different outfits, the names they called each other with, little details about their lives he picked up here and there, even the tone of their voices. A dozen people approximately. He can tell them every meal he had, what time they were served in the day, how many a day he had (not much, if he even had one). The way he remembers things is eerie. He speaks emotionlessly with carefully specific words, words no child his age, not even average adults would normally use, and gives exhaustively detailed descriptions, paying attention to things no-one else would notice. They can almost picture what happened as if they were there.

Steve, and all his colleagues, are all listening, baffled. They have never witnessed in their _lives_ such a shockingly thorough testimony from a kid, or otherwise. It's staggering. Even his own father is unnerved.

What the little boy doesn't say, however, is what they did to him or why they kidnapped him, neither does he ever mention what they seem to want. For all they know, no ransom has been asked, not officially anyway but everything concerning Stark Industries is so opaque that Steve isn't sure of that. But most of all, Tony doesn't tell them who murdered the three men. Every time the topic is broached, the little boy starts stammering and squirms restlessly on his chair. Either he doesn't remember or he purposely dodges the questions. There are huge gaps in whatever he is saying. _Huge._

And so many inconsistencies.

Everyone puts it on the trauma. Steve has other ideas. The description once again is uncannily precise. Basically the three men started to fight each other and accidentally killed each other. The little boy had been hiding under the bed and when he couldn't hear anything anymore he crawled out from under it. When he saw the three bodies he got scared, picked up the gun and rushed back underneath the bed to hide. Two of them were still alive when he did so. 

He explains this with so many details, so much precision it's impossible to question it, or doubt it. Especially when everything else proved to be true.

And yet, something feels wrong. None of what he says matches the marks on the floor or the positions of the bodies. There is something the little boy isn't telling them. Steve knows it from the bottom of his heart. And it's killing him.

On the third interrogation, Steve pulls Coulson into a quiet corner. 

"He's lying." He whispers.

Coulson frowns. "What are you saying? He's a _kid._ One who's been traumatized."

"And?"

"And he's not lying. He's just scared."

"Exactly!" Steve exclaims. He's a little too loud. People turn to them. "Kids lie all the time! My niece told us the schoolteacher head-butted her once." The memory almost relaxes him for a short moment.

"Thank you for your parental lesson, Rogers." Coulson snorts, sounding sarcastic. "I think I'd know. I've got four at home, remember? This is not a kid's lie. No kid, even the cleverest can come up with a lie with that many details."

Steve sighs.

"And I know—I _know_ it in my _guts,_ that the kid's lying. I don't know why. Perhaps he's scared. Perhaps he's protecting someone, I don't know... but he's hiding something."

Coulson hums, lost in his thoughts, and rubs his chin absent-mindedly. 

"This is not our case, kiddo. We don't call the shots here. You better be right about this."

Steve is conscious, very conscious, that if they write this, the case won't be closed anytime soon and literally no-one will be happy about it. Despite that, he's convinced this is the right thing to do, because the victims, at least, even if they were criminals, deserve the truth. And the idea that some murderer is running loose, unpunished, makes his stomach churn. He wants to get to the bottom of it.

Steve gathers all the evidence he found, points out all the inconsistencies and manages to convince Captain Fury to have the boy come back for a fourth interrogation.

This time Steve asks the questions. Because Steve is the person with whom the kid is the most comfortable and he's the one who opened Pandora box. He's got all eyes on him. He can't make any mistake or he's gonna be toast. This is his first big case after all.

He approaches the topic smoothly, making small talk beforehand, putting the little boy at ease. Tony is delighted to tell Steve everything new happening to his short life but the stares of all those men around them makes him anxious and when Steve gets to that moment of truth during their interview, his brown eyes widen and become glassy, the pallor of his face unhealthy. There is a faint tremor in his little hands.

Steve takes both his hands in his and stares right into his eyes. "Tony," he whispers softly, so softly only the boy can hear him. "Tony, I promise. Nothing's gonna happen to you, I swear. We'll protect you. We'll find the bad guys and they won't ever be able to hurt you again. But you need to help us. You need to tell us the truth."

"This _is_ the truth." He answers bluntly, unwavering. Such a strong-willed child. Steve would have smiled, in other circumstances. 

"You can trust me, Tony. I swear on my mother's life that nothing's gonna happen to you. Are you protecting someone? Was there someone else with you? Did they threaten you? How did they get out of the room? You need to tell us, Tony. So we can keep you safe. It's important."

The little boy's eyes flicker to all the men in the room. He shivers. His expression is untrusting.

"There wasn't anyone else." He whispers falteringly.

Steve knows how to make the boy talk. Well, he _thinks_ he does. He brings forward proofs of inconsistencies between the boy's first testimonies and the reality of the crime scene. They need to be rational about this, to appeal to the little boy's scientific mind. He's convinced that if he shows him, if he can demonstrate that what he explained is just logically impossible, it will finally make him talk. And he's not wrong.

Realizing that they can see through his lies shatters the boy's resolute stubbornness and his attitude changes completely. But he doesn't start talking, on the contrary. 

The little boy becomes restless and starts squirming on his seat. His breathing hitches and he's close to hyperventilate. His hands shake. He panics. "I'm not lying. I'm not lying. I'm not lying." He cries. The fear and uneasiness in his voice contrast with the imperturbable calm with which he answered all previous questions. And then he starts weeping, or pretending to at least, because there are no tears in his eyes. "I haven't done anything. I don't wanna go to prison." He whines.

Steve tries to reassure him and squeezes his hands in his, keeping eye contact, trying to anyway. "You're not gonna go to prison, Tony. No-one says you're lying. We just want to understand what happened. That's all we want to know." But the little boy is shaking like a leaf and shakes his head, refusing to talk.

"I wanna go home." He pleads, looking at his father with fear. "I wanna go home, please dad. I wanna go home." The despair is his voice is heart-wrenching. "Please dad," he begs whimperingly, "please don't let me go to prison."

He's terrified.

So terrified Steve lets go of his hands and regrets everything he's done. His own hands are shaking and he can feel his heart thumping in his chest. He's sweating he realizes. He wants to smack himself on the head for his own stupidity. Why did he do that?

Howard Stark gets angry. "This is over!" He growls. "Stop bothering my son, detective! This is obviously stressing him out. Can't you see how upset he is? He's told you enough." He addresses everyone in (and out) the room. "Now do your jobs and leave my son alone! Or I'll press charge. And trust me when I say that I never lose."

This is over. They have nothing. Howard Stark will never agree to another interrogation.

Steve holds his tears when he sees the little boy walk away, holding his father's hand. He watches their backs disappearing in the dim corridor leading to the exit. Tony is carrying the bunny, Steve notices, and it makes his heart leap in his chest. His father is pissed, he urges their steps. Tony reluctantly leaves, turning back to meet Steve's eyes. His gaze is pleading, heart-wrenchingly pleading. Steve would give everything at this moment to grab that kid away from his father's grasp and take him home with him. He tries to be rational about this.

Howard Stark is in a hurry. Out of annoyance he tears the bunny off Tony's grasp and throws it away. A very wrong move apparently, because the little boy struggles and pulls himself out of his father's grip to run to the bunny. He picks it up and clutches it under his arm, pressing it against him. He turns back one last time to look at Steve. Their eyes meet. A split second that lasts an eternity. 

It's not a complete failure, overall.

On the upside, everyone now is convinced that the little boy is hiding something, including their very nice and very friendly colleagues from the FBI who are in charge of the investigation. On the downside, however, they all literally _hate. his. guts._ He just reopened a case everyone thought closed and doesn't have a clue as to where to go from there, not even the beginning of a lead.

What bothers Steve though, what churns his stomach and keep him awake at night, is the terrified look on the boy's face. He hates himself and fears that he's lost Tony's trust forever. Not that it really matters in the end, because it's very unlikely their path will cross again.


	6. Father love

It's only a couple of months later that Steve meets Tony again.

Everything went very fast. They had so much detailed information that elucidating the kidnapping case has been a piece of cake. In barely three months, they had the nine undead perpetrators and eight losers who worked with them behind bars, as well as all the evidence necessary to send them to jail for the rest of their lives. It was easy to make them talk. They all confessed and told them everything they knew to reduce their sentences, which, unfortunately, wasn't much.

They were all recruited by that one guy, the mind behind the whole thing, and he was one of the three victims. The man was the only one to know the reason behind the kidnapping, he was the only one who knew what they were supposedly doing with the child and he was the only one who knew who they were working for. Only _he_ knew the plan in its entirety and he gave the rest of them day-to-day instructions individually. Which means that, despite the case being now closed, they have absolutely no idea who orchestrated the kidnapping. Nor do they have anything on the triple murder, not even the hint of a clue.

Steve has his own ideas about it but he shut his mouth this time. He doesn't want to bury his career before it even began. 

Anyway, the good news is, the case is now closed, the criminals have been arrested and Steve hastens to announce the breaking news in person to the principal concerned, Howard Stark and his adorable son, Tony. In truth and to be completely honest, Steve has just been trying, for _weeks,_ to find any possible excuse to visit Tony again.

It is a Sunday afternoon when he rings the bell on the huge Manhattan mansion. He wanted to have the best chances to see the boy _and_ his father. It's still early. The old man, Edwin Jarvis if Steve remembers the name well, opens the door and greets him politely, a discreet but genuine smile on his wrinkled lips.

"What can I do for you, detective?"

Steve hesitates, the old man is impressive, intimidating in his imperturbable wisdom. "I, uh, hum, I've come with news, regarding the case. I thought I should, hum, tell Mr Stark, uh, in person."

Jarvis steps aside and nods in agreement. "Come in, Mr Rogers." He opens the door wider, welcoming Steve inside. "Mr Stark is in his office. I shall announce your presence."

Steve doesn't even have the time to step inside before little hurried footsteps resonate in the corridor. And suddenly, hidden behind Jarvis's long thin legs, gripping his cord pants timidly, the little boy shows Steve his round expecting face, eyes twinkling in the dim light. He's holding the bunny but it looks dirty and overused, its two ears are nibbled at the top. Steve snorts at the sight. His sister was right after all.

Tony's big brown eyes are looking at Steve pleadingly. Steve feels the urge to catch him into a hug and press him against his chest, he refrains. The little boy too, looks like he's seeking more physical contact but doesn't dare get close to Steve. His cheeks are rounder he notices, more colored. He's taller too, although he still looks younger than his real age. 

"Hey, kiddo!" Steve says, a happy smile curling his lips upward without his consent. He almost wants to cry.

The little boy's eyes sparkle and illuminate his face into the hint of a smile. He shoves his thumb into his mouth and wavers on his feet awkwardly, knees turned on the inside, the bunny hanging down to the floor. 

"Tony," the old man sighs exasperatedly, "I told you not to drag around Detective everywhere. We'll have to wash it again."

Steve blinks at him a few times, eyes questioning. The old man gives him a soft smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, detective. I meant the bunny, not you."

Now Steve widens his eyes and turns his gaze to Tony. The little boy frowns. "His name's Detective Rogers," he says poutingly and Steve lets out a surprised chuckle.

"You named your bunny after _me?"_ He exclaims disbelievingly. 

The boy doesn't answer but he lowers his head and bites the nail of his thumb embarrassedly. Steve can see the top of his ears redden. His heart clenches.

"You wanna see my room?" Tony asks in a hurried rush. He's suddenly staring up at Steve, expectantly. His blush is fading from his round cheeks. How can anyone say no to that? 

Steve barely nods and already feels the warmth of the boy's little fingers in his hand. Tony is tugging on his arm, pressing him inside and dragging him along the murky corridor. They climb stairs and finally the boy pushes one of the numerous doors open. The room is unexpectedly luminous, in contrast. There are huge ornamented windows that open on a garden. A huge bookcase filled with books. Science books, mathematical theses and encyclopedias for the most part but Tony is very proud to show Steve one shelf stacked with a huge collection of science-fictions and fantasy novels, starting with the trilogy of _The Lord of the Rings_ that Steve has offered to him and looks dog-eared and overused. 

In the middle there is a bed, plain but comfortable and on the side, a desk and another shelf of school books. Papers filled with a tiny energetic writing are scattered on the desk. It's childish but doesn't look like the writing of a child. If Steve had looked closer he'd have seen that there's almost no spelling mistakes on those school papers but he definitely didn't. Besides, what's on those papers is certainly not anything close to what a child his age would normally study at school. Steve wonders if he goes to a special school.

The room isn't messy at all. There aren't many toys in it, if any, but there are a few projects here and there. A mechanical system lying on the floor, pieces scattered all around. An electronic board covered with wires all over on a side. A huge battery. Something that looks like a small engine. A few schematics. 

Steve picks up one and realizes they're schematics of weapons. He freezes, speechless, until he can feel a little tug on his pants.

"Hey, look! This is DUM-E."

"Dummy?" Steve asks cluelessly. 

The little boy rolls his eyes and picks up a joystick wired to a small robot. "I made him all by myself."

Steve widens his eyes and parts his lips. He crouches to take a closer look at the little robot. Tony activates the robot and makes it roll forward and backward and spin around. It beeps and whirrs and moves mechanical arms. 

It's very simple and extremely sophisticated at the same time. Steve is absolutely marveled.

He spends more time than he should in the little boy's room and Tony is back to being a chatterbox, showing him everything in it enthusiastically. Steve lets himself be a little dreamy about it. How nice it would be to see a genuine smile on the little boy's face. How nice it would be to be able to hold him in his arms again, to have his bright eyes looking up at him everyday. If Steve listened to himself, he'd pick up the child and go.

After a moment which felt like hours, Tony asks Steve if he can read him another story. Steve looks at the cover, _Nineteen Eighty-Four,_ and turns to Tony questioningly. The little boy looks at him with bright pleading eyes so Steve starts reading.

Perhaps, it really lasted hours, because at some point, Jarvis brings them cookies and milk. He offers Steve a cup of tea. Steve immediately closes the book and puts it down. He straightens up and accepts the cup politely, babbling profuse apologies. Jarvis nods understandingly and Tony runs to the book case to put the book back on the shelf.

"It's nice of you to come, detective. Tony missed the company. I'm afraid he's feeling lonely in this gloomy mansion."

Steve looks at him perplexedly. "Doesn't he have friends at school?"

Jarvis snorts mirthlessly. "He's being homeschooled. Always been. Howard isn't a trustful person. The boy never really met kids his age. Although, I suspect he would have had difficulties interacting with them anyway, even before what happened. He's always been... _different."_

Steve glances at the boy who is climbing down the stepladder methodically. It pains him, knowing how lonely the boy must be. His gaze must have been a little longing because their eyes meet and before he knows it, Tony is climbing on his lap clumsily and snuggling into his embrace. Steve almost spills his cup of tea all over the bed. Jarvis smiles fondly at the whole scene. The three of them keep chatting lightheartedly for a long moment. Tony cuddles him the whole time, Steve lets him willingly. Until Jarvis addresses the little boy in a warm tone.

"It's time for your bath, young man." He says and then looks back up at Steve. "Mr Stark is expecting you, last door on your right." 

Steve nods and then asks. "Are you the one taking care of everything here?"

Jarvis sighs. "I'm an old man, Mr Rogers. I'm too old for this. I was Mr Stark's butler and there used to be a lot of people working in this mansion but he fired all the staff except me, Mr Hogan, his driver and the security staff after the, hum, you know. I was supposed to retire but my wife died so I'm staying, for the boy."

Steve nods pensively. "I understand. My condolences." He answers without any further comment. He doesn't really know what to do with this piece of information but he reckons that if he and Howard are the only people Tony has interacted with in the last months then, yes, the boy must definitely feel very lonely and it breaks his heart. 

The old man grabs the little boy's hand and they head out, Tony looks back at Steve longingly, his pink curvy lips curled into a cute pout. Steve smiles at him, trying to be warm and reassuring but his face feel strained and his smile looks probably sadder than he would have wished.

Following Jarvis's instructions, Steve heads for Howard Stark's office at the end of the corridor, on the right. The room is huge and dark, a stark contrast with the little boy's luminous bedroom. The shutters are closed and only a few dim lamps are lit, giving the room a bleak atmosphere. Howard is standing by the fireplace where a fire is burning, flames dancing in the dark. He has a drink in hand and Steve spots a couple of empty bottles of brandy. 

He snorts when Steve steps inside. 

"Mr Stark." He greets.

"Mr Rogers..." The man slurs, he sounds drunk off his face. "To what do I owe this great honor?"

Steve cuts the crap and goes straight to the point, the shorter he remains in Howard Stark's presence the better. "We found all of them and arrested them, sir. The case is closed. I thought I should tell you in person."

Howard chuckles bitterly.

"Can I offer you a drink, detective? I suppose you're not on duty, if you have the time to pay us a courtesy call."

"I'm good." Steve grunts. 

There is a lingering uncomfortable silence settling between them. Howard doesn't turn to him and keeps looking at the flames.

"Why did they take him?" He whispers, his demand sounds desperate and the way his voice falters is heart-breaking.

"I'm sorry?"

"My son," Howard repeats, a tinge of anger pervading his voice, "why did they take my son? Why _my_ son?" The rage is palpable in his stance and for once, Steve can relate, he too wishes he could understand why anyone who do that to a kid. Especially a kid like Tony, so special and full of life. How did they manage to erase any smile from his face? "What have they done to him, detective?" Howard begs. His voice is hoarse and broken and sounds desperate again. Steve can see the glass in his hand shake. The man turns teary, expectant eyes to him and Steve can see the reflection of the fire burning in them. He swallows, feeling a lump growing in his throat. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down in shame.

"We don't know." He chokes out and feels his cheeks burn with equal rage and shame.

Howard is furious again and frantic when he starts talking rapidly the way Tony does. "There was no ransom. I've hired a dozen of private detectives. Not one was able to give me a lead. And suddenly, three men die and you find my boy under a bed. Why?"

Steve wavers on his feet and looks down again. "We don't have all the answers, sir. I'm sorry. We have caught all of them but we also have three corpses and corpses don't talk. There are still gray areas."

The man's glassy eyes flare with repressed rage. He clenches his fists resignedly and swallows down the last of his drink. There's another awkward silence lingering. Then, he swirls around to put his glasses on the table nearby and loses balance. He stumbles and catches himself on the bricks of the fireplace. 

He straightens up but his stance is wobbling, his legs are shaky. He looks worn out.

Steve makes an involuntary noise and the man snorts.

"I know what you're thinking." He snarls bitterly. He's definitely drunk.

Steve swallows again. "I don't think you do."

"Bullshit!" Howard almost shouts. "Spare me your judgmental speech, please. I'm not your age, when you've lived as long as I lived and been through what I've been through we can talk again. I haven't come down in the last shower, kid. I know _exactly_ what you think." He pauses, staring at Steve, piercing brown eyes that pin him to the wall. Howard points a swaying finger at him. It's almost as funny as it's sad, the decline of a man who probably used to be great once. "You think I'm a failure of a father."

Steve opens his eyes wide and lets his jaw hang slack. He almost stumbles and ungracefully steps back.

"And you're right." Howard accuses but he sounds miserable and his voice is broken with despair. "I don't know how to be father to him. I don't know how to love him. I can't even hold him in my arms," he chokes out and it sounds heartbreakingly self-loathing. "I just can't." He repeats, eyes hazy and lost into space. "Because every time I do, every time I _look_ at him, I can see his mother." Those last words are torn off his throat, sounding like an excruciating whisper. "Every fucking time and as time passes by I can see more and more of her in him."

Steve looks at him confusedly. His heart twinges and he's frozen on his spot. Unable to move or even speak. He'd like to bring the man some comfort, to say something to console him but what do you say to a man who lost his wife and whose son has lost the wish to smile?

"They have the same eyes," Howard continues with a soft voice. One that sounds nostalgic in a good sort of way. "Those big curious eyes. They're all her. She was enthusiastic like him, always a dreamer. I'm more down-to-earth. She would have been so proud of him. Did you know he's learnt how to read on his own? He was only three. Maria had wanted this child for so long. We've waited for such a long time before she was finally pregnant. We were so excited. She decorated his room all by herself. I know what people said about us but it wasn't like that. It wasn't a marriage of convenience. We loved each other. We were in love and I know what people were thinking but I _did not_ take advantage of her. We were _truly_ in love despite our age difference and Tony was conceived with love and he was wanted. I didn't want an heir, I wanted a _family."_ He lets out a long shivering sigh that's almost sob. "I couldn't even take him in my arms when he was born," he spats angrily, limbs trembling all over. "I ransacked his bedroom and even torn off the wallpapers. The day I saw him for the first time is also the day I lost her and I've _hated_ him, for so long... But he's my whole world and I would have given up everything to get him back." He hisses an angry breath. _"Why?"_ He shouts and his empty glass breaks and scatters on the floor.

Steve didn't think he could be moved by the likes of Howard Stark, ever, and there he is, wiping his prickling eyes. He swallows the growing lump in his throat and speaks, voice hoarse and broken.

"I'm sorry Mr Stark," he rasps. "I really wish I could give you more answers but that's all we've got. I'll keep you up to date."

"Yeah. Do that! De-tec-tive. I think we're done. Show yourself out."

Steve nods and spins around. His clenches his fists as he strides toward the entrance door. He's enraged but not because of Howard, weirdly, because of his own frustration, because of those _fuckers._

He _needs_ answers.

He's about to scram when he hears rushed footsteps running down the stairs and a little voice that mutters plaintively. "Steve..." He turns back abruptly and is faced with the little boy's big brown eyes, staring at him pleadingly. His hair is still wet and he's wearing his pajamas. 

"Tony?" Steve husks.

The little boy doesn't reach the last steps before throwing himself into Steve's arms. Steve catches him and his scrawny legs curls around his waist in a tight grip. Steve wraps his arms around him and squeezes tight. He buries his face in the crook of his neck and lets out a painful sigh. He wishes he could promise him the world but there's nothing that he can do.


	7. Yellow lilies

Steve never got the time, nor the opportunity to get Howard Stark up to date with the progresses they make on the triple murder case, which are inexistent by way.

It's only been three weeks since Steve went to visit the Stark household. It's a beautiful day. The sun is bright and the sky is clear despite the cold. It's such a splendid weather it's almost ironic, like the sun is laughing at their faces. But isn't Howard Stark's whole life, his _destiny,_ such a huge twist of irony? To end up like this, to finish his life secluded with his butler, living in a huge dark mansion with all that money on his hands and spending his last days—what is he saying? His last _years—_ in a barricaded office, plunged in the darkness, with his bottle of brandy as only company.

Steve is quite an emotional guy and he can't help but be moved despite his differences with the man. It was so sudden and brutal. He looks at the few tears running down freezing cheeks reddened by the cold and represses his own.

There aren't many people, surprisingly. Howard had probably lost his friends over the years, if he ever had any. It's sad, in a way. Even if the guy was a conceited prick.

Steve can't help but wonder though. They classified his death as an accident but why would Howard Stark drive drunk with his chauffeur on the passenger seat? Isn't that the purpose of having a chauffeur? Not having to drive when you're drunk? It doesn't make any sense. 

Sure Howard Stark may have been a little whimsical and authoritarian and drunk people often make poor life choices as a general rule. Still, it doesn't sound like the man. Not that Steve knew him very well but it doesn't suit the character, he thinks. Howard was wary, distrustful and overly cautious. It seems unlikely he would do something like this and it can't be a coincidence but what does Steve know anyway? He saw the man drunk in the middle of a Sunday afternoon with his own eyes and he's not the one who calls the shots so why bother?

He's only worried about the boy...

Tony is holding the old man's hand. The old man's tears are discreet but genuine. The little boy doesn't cry however, he grips Jarvis's hand as if his life depended on it. Steve is a few steps behind them. He'd like to catch the little boy in his arms and tell him that everything is going to be alright but what gives him the right to say that? And on what grounds? It's all but empty promises and he doesn't want to upset the boy any further. He doesn't want his presence to disrupt the semblance of calmness he seems to be able to keep.

Steve half-listens to the priest's sermon. He observes instead, looking for clues, and perhaps also to be ready and quick to react in case something were to happen. There's a man catching his attention. It's stupid and he knows it. Why would something happen now specifically? And it's not like Steve could be there at all times and besides, there's a whole team of body guards surrounding the area.

The little boy watches sternly the few people around throwing white roses and carnations on the casket, imperturbable. He's wearing shorts on a winter day and the picture reminds Steve of John Kennedy Jr giving a final salute to his father. When everyone dropped their flowers, Tony steps forward, a yellow lily in hand, and slowly crouches to put the flower delicately on his father's coffin then he wipes absent tears from his face with the inside of his elbow, returns to Jarvis's side and grabs his hand with trembling fingers. Steve's heart clenches and he curses silently, blaming God for being so unkind to that little boy, so innocent and already tarnished in so many ways. 

What's gonna happen to him now?

Jarvis comes for him at the end, thanks him for being here and showing his respect to the great man that was Howard Stark. He was highly-esteemed by one person at least. The old man holds Steve's hand in his two wrinkled ones. 

"Mr Stark appointed me legal guardian in his will." He says. "But I'm old. What's gonna happen to him if—" He doesn't finish his sentence and lets out a shaky breath. The words fly out, unsaid but strongly implied, heavy on Steve's mind. "The next appointed guardian was Mr Hogan. Tony doesn't have any other family. Maria was an orphan and Howard's parents both passed away before Tony was born and he was an only child." There is a tremor in the old man's voice. "Howard trusted us, Mr Hogan and I, with his son. I'll do everything I can to honor that trust." He exclaims, the _but_ left unsaid, hanging in the air. "He's gonna need protection, detective," Jarvis continues, "but most of all... He's gonna need love. I hope I can count on you too," he asks looking straight into Steve's eyes, "that you won't let him down."

Steve swallows. How is he supposed to do that?

"I won't, Mr Jarvis." He manages to say in a hurtful breath. Because no-one can say no to a man like Jarvis.


	8. Karma is a bitch

Steve brings the key to the lock with a trembling hand but he doesn't open it, in the end. He rings the bell instead. He figures it's more appropriate. He doesn't live here anymore, after all. He can hear loud footsteps and grumbling. The door opens abruptly.

His mother is startled at first and then she stares at him with wide confused eyes but past the surprise, a suspicious frown appears on her gentle face. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she steps back silently and opens wider to let him in.

Steve walks past her and takes off his beanie and his coat, hanging them on the coat rack in the entrance hall, falling back into a comforting routine that was his not so long ago. His mother closes behind him silently and mindlessly straightens the coat he just hung and replaces the beanie. He heads for the kitchen and she follows him to give him a proper kiss.

Steve prepares them a coffee while she looks into her cupboards to find comfort food. She finds some cookies and brings them to the table while he holds two smoking cups with hot coffee and puts them down on the table. One in front of his ma, the other in front of him.

Sarah looks into his eyes and grabs his hand that is desperately lying on the table. Silently, she just comforts him, searching into his eyes for answers.

"What's troubling you, Stevie?"

"Why are you automatically assuming that something's troubling me?"

She makes a knowing grimace. "Because ungrateful sons only come to see their mama when something's troubling them."

"Ma!" Steve protests.

"What?" Sarah pretends and straightens back on her chair. "We, mothers, would also be very happy to see our children when everything's going fine!"

Steve smiles fondly at her and she smiles back, her most gentle smile. He takes her hands in his and looks straight into her eyes. "I'm sorry, ma. I'll come more often from now on. I've just been really busy lately."

"Pffft!" Sarah exclaims disbelievingly. "That's what they all say."

"Ma! I swear, I've really had three very complicated weeks. Had to work during the weekend too."

She lets out a forgiving hum and studies him from the corner of her eyes, looking partly amused, partly doubtful. "So, what's troubling you, baby boy?" She asks while taking a sip of her coffee.

Steve purses his mouth hesitantly and hums softly. He finally bites his bottom lip and talks. "What would you say if I were to foster a child?"

Sarah's eyes open comically wide. She almost chokes on the coffee. Then she raises a suspicious eyebrow. "What child, Stevie?" She asks in a tone that tells Steve she knows exactly the answer to that question.

Steve lowers his head and feels his cheeks embarrassingly blush.

"It's about Howard Stark's little boy again, isn't it?"

Steve braces himself and brings his hands together with conviction. He stares into his mother's eyes. "I can't let him down, ma."

"You really want to take care of him, uh?"

"Yes."

"Well, whatever you decide, you know I'll always be one hundred percent behind you."

"I'm gonna need you, ma. I can't do this on my own."

His mother huffs a long sighs and studies him for a moment. She's looking at him with the resigned air of someone who knows they won't have the choice in the end.

"We'll _all_ be there for you, for the both of you, son." She brings her hand to his face and cups his jaw. "Me, your father and you sister." He leans into the touch for a short moment, letting the tenderness overwhelm him. "We'll be there for you if you take on the child, of course we will! But you need to think hard on it, baby."

Steve hums into her hand.

"Having a child to take care of on a daily basis is a heavy responsibility." She warns him in a threatening tone. "I want you to remember that, Stevie. It's not gonna be a bed of roses. Those few moments you shared with him, it won't be anything like it when you have the responsibility of his safety, his education and his well-being. Raising a child is hard and you're still very young. Raising a child who's different is much harder. Raising a child with a trauma like this boy must have suffered is gonna be a real hardship. I hope you're prepared for that, Steve. There will be more difficult moments than happy ones."

Steve looks at his hands and plays with his fingers pensively, listening attentively to his mother's warnings. He feels his conviction waver. "You don't want me to, do you?" He finally asks, voice sounding a little too hoarse.

She has a forlorn glint in her eyes. For a moment she remains silent, perhaps trying to find the right words to say what she means, the ones who would hurt him less. 

"I wished for a different life for you, I can't say I didn't." She admits. "Like every mother on the planet would, I guess, I want for you to have a fulfilling job, find someone nice with whom you can start a family and live happily ever after. I certainly never imagined you'd become a single father at the age of twenty-three. No mum would wish that for their sons. But if you're sure about it then I'll support your choice, whatever you decide."

Steve stares at her and feels tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. He takes her hands in his again. "Who's gonna take care of him if I don't, ma?"

She smiles tenderly. The way she does when she sees further than he wants her to. "You really _do_ _want_ it, Stevie, right? You wouldn't do that only because you feel that you have to, would you? Because if that's the case then you shouldn't do it. The kid is not your responsibility and if you can't foster him, others will! You need to be two hundred percent invested in this! He'll _need_ you to be invested."

"I am, ma."

She smiles again. This time there's no melancholy in it. Only fondness. "Then go for it! I'll have your back."

Steve tries to convey all the gratitude he feels right now in his gaze. He thinks his mother know, she always does.

He's still holding her hands when his father enters. His father is shy with his marks of affection but Steve can see how happy he is to see him in the way his eyes brighten when he notices his presence. Even if he hasn't always been able to see it.

His father nods and greets him. "Son."

"Dad." Steve greets back.

"What is your son doing here, paying us a visit, Sarah? Did you know he was coming?"

His mother snorts. "Steve wants to foster the Stark boy."

His father startles at first and then scratches his chin pensively. "Uh? Oh. Alright." He mutters, lost in his thoughts. It always took him more time to fathom the entirety of a situation than it took his mother. "You sure you wanna do that, son?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright then."

And that was it.

But lets go back five weeks previous...

It was a heart attack.

Jarvis.

Everyone was caught off guard. 

The old man fainted right in the middle of the street and is now hospitalized. Alive but barely and, most of all, physically and logistically unable to take care of the boy. He was unconscious for a week and during that time, the little boy was alone in his huge mansion in Manhattan, having sent their few remaining employees home to make sure no-one would force him out of there.

A whole week before the old man woke up and panicked when he realized he was in a hospital bed and started crying Tony's name. 

A whole week before social services took the boy and threw him into a children's home.

Just a week... before the little boy was abandoned to the system. Another ward no-one cares about that will cost money to the taxpayers. How ironic...

Steve only caught wind of it two weeks later and came to visit the boy immediately. They have placed him in a new school and let's say it's been a complicated week for them. That's a huge understatement. The boy is unmanageable. No one, absolutely _no-one_ wants to deal with him.

Steve has the feeling Tony is doing it on purpose. His suspicions are sort of confirmed only three days later, as he and Coulson walk back into the precincts after a routine patrol.

"There's a little boy who's been asking for you." Hill says when he gets to their floor. "He's waiting on your desk chair. Won't say his name."

As soon as she said it, Steve's heart starts racing in his chest. He panics. His first thought is that something happened to his sister and his nephew, Cooper, came to the precinct knowing he was there. Then he suspects Cooper might have gotten lost. Or worse, he played hooky. In any case, it can't be a good thing.

Steve rushes inside and runs to his desk, only to see a crazed little boy with dark hair and big brown eyes fiddling with the pens on the table and trying to make a mobile with them, the construction already quite a complex thing that holds together by some kind of miracle, in a, yet, precarious state of equilibrium. 

Steve stops in his tracks and stares at him bewilderedly.

"Tony?"

At the noise the little boy raises his innocent eyes and meets his stupefied gaze. He climbs down the chair immediately and joins his hand together, tugging on his own arms in front of him as if he were trying to tear them off. He looks down, hiding a pout and swinging on his legs as if waiting for some kind of reprimand. 

Finally Steve wakes up from his daze and walks over to him. He ruffles a soft hand through his tousled hair. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

The little boy shrugs.

"Did something happen?" Steve inquires worriedly.

The little boy shakes his head and lowers it even more. And then, finally, when seeing that Steve remains standing on his spot, arms crossed and waiting for answers, the little boy speaks. "I...I just wanted to see you." He's hunched up, knees turned on the inside and legs shaking a little. 

Steve's heart skips a beat and starts racing again. "Did you run away?" He exclaims in shock. 

Tony starts biting his thumb. "I was gonna go back." He mutters in a shivering voice.

Steve is about to throw a tantrum but then the boy looks at him with wide and wet puppy-eyes so his anger deflates like a balloon. "You can't do that, Tony!" He explains in a hoarse voice. "It's too dangerous. You're just a kid! If you wanna see me, asks the school, or the home, to give me a call and I'll come over to see you."

The little boy's face tenses into an unreadable but heart-wrenching expression. He keeps looking up at Steve expectantly. Steve feels his shoulders slump in defeat. He crouches down, as some kind of signal for the boy that jumping into his arms is now allowed. Tony doesn't need to be asked twice and literally throws himself into his arms, making Steve stumble back in his momentum. He won't let him go for the next ten minutes, at least. Not until Steve needs to pull him off because everyone around is looking at them funny.

"You can't come here on your own, Tony." Steve repeats. "It's too far and too dangerous to come here and it's a police station, it's not a place for a kid." The boy nods silently. "And this is my _work,_ I have stuff to do. I can't keep lazing around with you, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm gonna call the school now, okay?"

Tony pouts but nods again, eyes shining bright, with a glint of disappointment in them. "Okay." Steve almost hesitates. 

But no, fuck no! He doesn't wanna get in trouble and everyone must be looking for him, worried sick. Steve doesn't know how long the boy's been waiting for him but the journey from Manhattan all the way to Brooklyn itself must have taken him _hours._ He doesn't even want to know how he managed to come all the way here or how he found out the address. It's making him dizzy. 

He calls the school, they sound relieved on the phone but not very surprised. Nor worried when Steve announces that the boy's at a police station in fucking _Brooklyn._ He asks them a few questions and shivers when he learns that they haven't noticed his absence until half-an-hour ago and have just signaled his disappearance. What kind of professionals are they? 

Then he calls the children's home. This time is met with relief _and_ outward annoyance. Apparently the little boy has gone and done it again. Steve spares a glance at Tony who is sinking into his chair ashamedly, holding onto his bunny tightly, silent. Steve learns that it's the fifth time in two weeks that he's run away. Mostly, he's been visiting Jarvis at the hospital. Which is why this is the first place they called. Haven't they taken extra security measures since then, Steve inquires. Perhaps he growls on the phone, he's not sure. And yes, they have but the little boy is a sneaky bastard and outsmarts them every time. They're at the end of their patience. Plus, they stopped getting worried for nothing since the little boy always comes back in the end. Steve hums and keeps his own counsel. He only asks when they can pick him up.

No-one is available to pick him up imminently. 

Great. 

Steve is annoyed. No, he's pissed off. _The little boy is only five for Christ's sake!_ He just needs someone to care, someone to love him, someone to _pay attention._ How can they do this? How can they not care at all? He tells them nicely that he'll bring him back there in a couple of hour because he needs to finish something up first. They seem to like that arrangement fairly well. 

He hangs up and turns to the boy. "How about a burger?" He says and the little boy shakes his head enthusiastically.

"Alright, but I need to finish this first." Steve says frowning his eyebrows into a scowl. The little boy pinches his lips and frantically nods, eyes sparkling with innocent mischief.

While Steve writes his report, Tony keeps playing with his box of pens, silently sat on the chair next to him. So discreet and comfortable he almost forgets about his presence.

When he's done he takes the boy to a diner, avoiding the rush hours. Tony is starving but exhausted. His eyes start squinting a little and his eyelids flutter shut in a funny way but the little boy forces them open, keeping wide-open and dumbstruck-looking eyes so he wouldn't fall asleep. The boy still eats his burger ravenously and answers Steve's random questions as honestly as he can.

"Are they treating you well at the home?"

He nods.

"They're being nice?"

He nods again.

"And the other kids? They're being nice, too?"

He shrugs.

"Do you like it there?"

This time his response is half-way between a nod and a shrug.

"No-one's hurt you, have they?"

He shakes his head.

"You would tell me if that was the case?"

Another nod.

"I hope you're being nice, Tony. It's important to be nice. If you're nice with people they will like you." Although Steve isn't absolutely sure this is the kind of advice he should tell a kid who's been placed in a home, filled with neglected and/or abused kids and orphans. From what he's heard about them, it's far from being cloud-cuckoo land."

The little boy nods again but this time it's slow and shy. 

"You won't run away again, are you?" Steve commands. The little boy shakes his head timidly. "Do you promise?"

This time the way he shakes his head into a no is quite frantic. Steve lets out a desperate sigh. 

It's already very dark outside when Steve carries the boy back to the children's home in Manhattan. He sat the boy on his shoulders and half-listens to him rambling about the invisible stars above their heads. When the caseworker opens the door, Tony is standing straight in front of Steve, his big grounding hands on his frail little shoulders, eyes wide open and unapologetic. When she sees the little boy she crouches down and wraps him into her embrace relievedly, holding him tight. Something that makes the little boy cringe.

"What did I tell you, Tony?" Steve grumbles.

The little boy complies and mutters a soft and dishonest "Sorry" with a pout on his lips.

Tony comes back six times in the three following weeks.

Steve comes up with a crazy idea.


	9. Becoming a Dad?

Steve made his decision.

Now he needs to ask the little boy what would be his opinion on the matter.

As it happens, Tony is just right there, on his desk chair, making it spin around. Having certainly run away from school, or from the children's home, once again. No-one in the precinct is surprised anymore, they don't even blink an eye.

It's almost part of a routine now. 

The little boy shows up, usually the dirty bunny that he drags around all day long tucked in his arms. Sometimes he has a school bag with him, to have something to do in case Steve isn't at his desk. He doesn't even need to _ask_ for Steve, his colleagues have taken on the habit to direct him straight to the right place. Steve even keeps lollipops in his top drawer—the one Tony is allowed to rummage into—and books that he takes from the public library on his way to work.

Tony knows he can help himself with the candies and the books.

That doesn't mean Steve condones his behavior. Not at all, on the contrary. He sermons him every time and the little boy knows that at the end of the day Steve will bring him back to the children's home, no matter what. Even if they make a stop at a diner from time to time on their way there.

Sometimes Tony does so because he's had a bad day, or because something happened, but mostly he's just paying him friendly visits.

People have raised concerns, indeed. They say he's indulging him. That he should be firmer, tell the kid off, show him who's the boss and this a police station not a kindergarten, Rogers, for Christ's sake! This is no place for kids! Steve knows that, thank you, but he can't resolve to do it. Every time Tony looks at him with his big brown eyes, every resolution he made vanishes instantly. It's not a big deal, he figures. The child has been through so much already. Why can't he give him that? But then again, it _is_ kind of a problem, and disrupting the ambiance of the precinct, and reflecting on the quality of his work.

Steve needs to do something about it and put a stop to it. For good. 

And perhaps he found the perfect solution?

"Hey, kiddo!" He greets softly. He's past pretending he is annoyed by his impromptu visits by now. Parts of him feel blissed and enjoy them till the last moments. Ahem. But yeah, right, he should remain mature about the whole situation. He's an adult for God's sake!

"Steve!" The kid yells and he runs to him. He wants to jump into his arms and give him a hug but Steve talked to him about PDAs and things that are appropriate, or not, to do in his workplace, the precinct to be more precise. Namely, that hug he intended to give now, for instance. Steve thinks the boy understood, mostly.

It's mid-late afternoon and way past pick-up time. Steve stopped asking how the little boy managed to escape yet again the vigilance of his educators. He just accepted the sad truth and came to terms with it. He asked once. "You _know_ he will try to escape, can't you keep a closer eye on him?" They do, they just answered, but he's too cunning. They would need someone within an inch of him every second of every day and they don't have enough resources or staff for that. Besides, he's managed to fool a few of them already, even as they were staying by his side all day long, and more than once. They can't even anticipate. He changes tactics all the time.

"Did you have a good day at school?"

The boy shrugs. He usually does when Steve asks. Steve suspects he gets bored.

"Didn't Molly pick you up on time?" Steve has learnt all the caseworkers' names and schedules by now. He knows exactly who's supposed to take care of the little boy and when.

"She did." The little boy says innocently, playing absentmindedly with the pens on Steve's desk. 

"And?" Steve insists. "Why are you here then?"

"I removed the child safety lock on the car door when she wasn't looking and I was able to get off at a traffic light." Tony replies nonchalantly. "I don't think she noticed."

Steve wonders how come he still manages to be shocked about things like this. He closes his hanging jaw and huffs out an annoyed sigh while pinching the bridge of his nose helplessly.

"That's naughty, Tony." He croaks. "Very naughty!"

The little boy looks at him sheepishly. Steve sits down at his desk and pulls up the phone. "Hi, detective Rogers on the phone."

"Oh, thank God, Steve! Is he with you?"

"He's just beside me." Steve answers. The woman sounds both relieved and unusually distressed. Her voice shivers at the other end of the phone.

"I don't know what happened." She explains in a broken, faltering voice. She sniffles and represses a sob. "He was just there, in the back of the car, and when I looked back to ask him if he was hungry he wasn't there anymore." 

Now she's really crying. She's obviously at the end of her tether. They all are.

Steve reassures her the best he can, talking to her soothingly. "It's alright, Molly, it's alright. It's not your fault. He's fine. He's safe. Everything's alright. I'll bring him over."

She calms down and sniffles again. "Thank you, Steve."

Steve hangs up and glares at the little boy. 

"You made Molly extremely worried, Tony!" He scolds. "I hope you're very sorry about that!" And he's not even talking about how _dangerous_ it was.

The little boy looks down, ashamed. It almost looks like he's on the verge to tears but Steve knows he isn't. He has never seen him cry or laugh or even smile. The range of his emotions—at least, the one he shows—is limited.

Steve sits him in a corner and lets him mull over it for long a moment while doing his own thing and when he considers there's been enough self-flagellation on his part for the day he rolls his chair around to face the little boy and scowls at him.

"Listen, buddy," he starts, "there's something I wanna talk to you about." The little boy looks up at him, eyes open wide. His expression is uncertain, partly curious, partly worried. "It's something that's been on my mind for a while now... And I'd like to ask your opinion about it."

Tony's big brown eyes open even wider.

"Do you agree?"

The little boy nods frantically.

"So, I've been thinking... " Steve continues, sounding hesitant. In truth, his heart is thumping so fast and loud in his chest he doesn't even hear himself talking. "What would you say if I were to ask the judge to be your legal guardian?"

Tony freezes and gasps. A hundred of different emotions are pooling in his brown eyes. They're unusually wet and stare at him fixedly, dazed and wild. His hands are shaking. Steve grabs his wrists comfortingly, holding him down, grounding him to the planet earth. The little boy starts breathing heavily, unable to speak.

"Hey, kiddo. It's alright. You don't have to say yes, you know!"

Obviously this was not the right thing to say because now Tony's mouth contorts as he makes an utterly pained expression. The look in his eyes is heart-wrenching.

"Look," Steve tries, "if I do this, I'll have to get the judge's approval first. I might not get it, you know? And it's not gonna be easy, living with me. I have long hours. I work on weekends. I won't always be able to pick you up at school. I'll be out all night sometimes. I'm not a very good cook and it's just me at home. You'd have to stay with my mum, or my sister, sometimes. They're very nice, I swear, but you'll certainly be better off with a real foster family. People who'd be there for you all the time." The little boy calms down and stares at Steve expectantly, pinching his trembling lips, Steve rubs his hands up and down his arms. "But if you'd still like to live with me," he says hoarsely, "I'll do my best to take care of you, I promise."

Tony grimaces, as if repressing a sob. The pain in his eyes is gone.

Steve smiles. "So?" He asks fondly. "Is that a yes?"

The little boy doesn't answer but leans forward, curling his arms around Steve's neck, and clutches to him so tightly Steve can barely breathe.

Steve wraps hesitant arms around the boy's frail body and pulls him up into his embrace. The boy instinctively clamps Steve's waist with his skinny legs and never lets go. Appropriateness be damned!

Steve did everything by the book.

He contacted the social services, the foster care agency, the family court judge, Jarvis... He requested a hearing because his situation is quite particular. He doesn't want to start a foster home, he just wants to become legally responsible for Tony.

In order to show his good will—and because he truly needs it—Steve started training programs. He wrote letters to explain his motivation and willingness to cooperate with everyone involved in the care of the little boy and even asked his family to attend foster parents training programs too.

He bought books about education, childproofed his apartment, bought new furniture to furnish the spare room and made it ready to welcome a little boy.

He's had several interviews and home visits from casework staff and psychologists and court assistants with whom he discussed several important topics like his reasons to become Tony's legal guardian, his understanding of the foster parent role and the difference between foster care and guardianship, his concerns and his possible questions about raising a child with trauma, his readiness to assume responsibility for Tony and his ability to provide for the boy's physical and emotional needs, his awareness of the impact that all those responsibilities will have upon his family life, his relationships and current lifestyle, the principles related to the development and discipline of children and the need of each child for guidance, a supportive relationship as well as a self-assessment of his capacity to provide a child with a stable relationship.

A lot of blathering in his opinion but he did learn a thing or two.

He also provided a written physician’s report on his and the members of his family's health, including a complete and thorough physical examination of himself and letters of recommendation and support from his relatives, his colleagues and most importantly, from Edwin Jarvis. He gave the names of dozens of references who can attest of his moral character, mature judgment, ability to manage financial resources, and capacity for developing a meaningful relationship with a child.

With _Tony,_ at least...

With all of this, it is quite naturally that his request for Tony's guardianship was... _rejected._

What does that mean 'rejected'?

 _"Rejected?"_ He exclaims, feeling his cheeks burn with rage and incomprehension. "I don't understand, your honor. I did everything you asked. I have a steady Job, a decent income—"

"I don't think money is the problem here, Mr Rogers."

"—I have a room ready for him in my apartment. I _meet_ all the requirements. Why?"

"Oh, it's quite simple, Mr Rogers." Judge Franklin answers with a detestable smirk on her face. Steve feels like a laughing joke but there is _absolutely_ nothing funny about this. "You have about zero experience with children. No experience with issues of child neglect and abuse. You're only twenty-three years-old, single, with a job that is both demanding and time-consuming, with irregular hours—not to mention possibly dangerous . How can you possibly insure that the boy with have your care and attention full time? And most of all, you are _very_ _un_ related to him. I'm sorry, Mr Rogers, but it's not because the _boy_ seems very fond of you that it gives you the ability to provide him with a stable and safe environment as well as a supportive and healthy relationship."

Steve grits his teeth and clenches his fists.

"I have already thought about it," he tries to explain, "and I have suitable plans for the care and supervision of Tony in all the situations where it will be necessary. My mother and my sister will support me and help me raise the boy. They have experience with children. They will be able to take over from me when I can't free myself from my responsibilities at work. We've discussed this. They agreed."

"But they're _not_ the ones requesting guardianship of the child, Mr Rogers. You are. I can't gamble on a child's life."

Steve feels tears of rage prickle at the corner of his eyes. There are so many things he wants to shout at her but he refrains, there's no point. They wouldn't come back on their decision. He lowers his head because his glare would be to defiant he knows that.

"Will I be able to visit him at his foster home, at least?"

"The court will not give you official visiting rights, this is preposterous, you're not his parent. If you want to visit the boy you'll have to ask his foster parents. Dismissed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did some (very little) research about the foster care system in the US for this (on which I based most of this chapter) but not enough for it to have even a semblance of plausibility... Again, just accept it is fiction. I have no idea what I'm talking about. 
> 
> Also, you may be wondering why they don't just use their cellphones, well, given that the first chapter was happening around nowadays, that means Tony was a kid in the late 80s, early 90s. (This chapter is set approximately around 1987-88). I thought I should maybe clarify that... Sorry about any potential anachronisms. ;-)


	10. You don't choose your family, or do you?

"You wanted to see me, Captain?"

Steve steps inside Fury's office hesitantly. The captain stares at him sternly, his single eye fixed upon him with something like exasperated annoyance. Yet, Steve is pretty sure he didn't make any mistake in his last report. Although, he must admit he has been distracted lately. Ever since the court denied him legal guardianship of Tony, he's been in a foul mood to say the least, and possibly troubled, very much on edge, and certainly worried sick.

For his defense, the last couple of months have been quite hectic. Firstly, the little boy's escapades' frequency increased exponentially when he heard about the court decision. His behavior changed as well. He became erratic, insolent, sometimes irascible. The boy miraculously stopped running away only when Steve grabbed his shoulder, stared deeply into his eyes and one-on-one said: "It upsets me greatly, Tony, when you run away. I'm extremely worried to the point it hurts my stomach. I really, _really,_ wish you would listen to your educators and stop putting yourself in danger. Because if anything were to happen to you, I would be very very sad." 

Eventually, they placed the boy in a foster home. They lasted three days. And in another one. Barely a week. Uncontrollable, manipulative, violent, a trouble-maker. All reasons were good not to keep him in their homes. All in all, he's been placed in five different foster homes in less than two months.

So much for stability.

Anyway, despite all that, Steve is confident he hasn't made any mistakes this time so he wonders why Fury is glaring at him right now.

"Judge Franklin has requested an unofficial meeting with you."

Steve startles. "What?" He exclaims, "who's Judge Franklin?" He's trying to remember all the cases he's been working on recently. No magistrate bore the name Franklin, to his knowledge. He's a bit at a loss.

"From the New York City Family Court." Fury specifies, sounding equally annoyed and sarcastic. "Rings a bell?" He adds while raising a suspicious eyebrow.

The NYC Family Co—oh? _Oh. Right...._ Right.

He's confused for a short moment. The last foster home the boy has been placed in is really decent. Steve has met the parents, they're caring, responsible, very attentive and loving. He has been allowed to visit the boy and he seemed to be adjusting just fine. Steve was almost convinced then that the court decision had been the right one. 

He opens his mouth to ask for further information but can't find the words so he closes his mouth and finally settles on a simple "Why?"

Fury looks and sounds (really) pissed. "What the fuck do I know, Rogers?" He snarls. "She's expecting you at 2pm. Don't be late!"

It is not in his habits to be late, sir.

Which is why Steve finds himself right on time in front of Honorable Sandra Franklin's door and knocks timidly on the opaque glass pane. 

It's a snappy voice that shouts "come in" from the inside of the office. Apparently, Judge Franklin is pissed at him too. Or she's just generally pissed, Steve wouldn't blame her... He steps inside, making himself small, and walks over to her messy desk scattered with huge and rickety piles of files. An amount of paperwork that gives Steve a headache just thinking about it.

He glances at the chair and shuffles for it without thinking but the Judge frowns when he starts leaning toward it so he straightens up and waits for her permission to sit down in front of her.

She doesn't give it.

Instead, she stares up at him above her thin glasses, expression very much unwelcoming, and throws an envelop at him. "Explain this to me!" She growls, gritting her teeth. 

The envelop is unopened. Steve picks it up and glances at the address. He's really confused, now. "It's addressed to _you."_ He notices.

"Open it!"

"I'm sorry. I'm not quite sure to understand."

"Open it!" She repeats annoyedly.

Steve is growing confused and the Judge's inexorable expression is making him increasingly uncomfortable. 

"Okay." He mutters, words struck in his throat.

Then he starts reading, heart racing, beating hard against his ribs and loud at his temples. He stares at the writing, baffled. He recognizes it. The same writing he saw on Tony's school books. He feels a tear that drips down his cheek and wipes it before Judge Franklin can see.

He reads again.

And again, to be sure.

> _Dear Judge Franklin,_
> 
> _My name is Anthony Stark, and I am the son and heir of Howard Stark and owner of Stark Industries. I am writing on behalf of detective Steven Grant Rogers, to request that he receives legal authority over me and officially becomes my legal guardian._
> 
> _Mr Rogers has shown me both love and care ever since we met. He has acted as a parental figure and a mentor and still does to this day. I care for him deeply and I think he feels the same. He has agreed to take me in and I would very much like to live with him. He has a decently-paying and steady job and all the requirements for my well-being in his current place of living. In addition, he has familial support including his parents and his sister._
> 
> _I would be very grateful to you, your honor, if you agreed to my request._
> 
> _Respectfully,_
> 
> _Anthony Edward Stark_

His hands are still shaking when he looks up with teary eyes and gazes questioningly at the judge. "I don't understand." He just says, still baffled and feeling his heart waver in his chest.

"Explain." Judge Franklin commands. Steve's eyes widens in confusion.

"Well, I... What am I supposed to say?"

She bends down to pick up a big cardboard box and throws it on her desk in front of Steve. It is filled with letters of the same kind. "And I suppose you can't explain this either?"

His jaw goes slack and his mouth gapes. He stares at the contents of the box bewilderedly, wiping clammy hands on the back pockets of his jeans. "One for each day. Every. Fucking. Day, for two months." She explains.

Steve snorts. He can't help it.

"Do you think this is funny?" She snaps, eyes bloodshot with repressed rage. 

"No, I don't— I'm sorry, your honor. But—"

"I don't know how you managed to do that Mr Rogers, but this is not going to be at your advantage, I can tell you. At the most it will grant you a restraining order."

Steve feels the blood leave his body. He's livid. "I beg your pardon?" He manages to choke out despite the growing lump in his throat. 

"You heard me."

He feels a shiver run through him and a surge of rage overwhelms him. His hands are shaking and he feels his face burn. He clenches his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. "I'm _not_ responsible for this." He growls through gritted teeth. "You have no right."

"Of course, you're not." The judge snarks. "And you're telling me a five-year-old boy came up with this, then?" 

Steve sucks in an angry breath. "If you had spent at least ten minutes with the boy you would know what he's capable of. It _is_ his writing."

"I know it's his writing. And I know what is capable of, believe me." She throws another scrambled piece of paper at him. "And I guess you're not responsible for that either?" She huffs out, halfway between an exasperated and desperate sigh.

Steve takes the note with shaky hands and skims through it. This time his whole body shudder in fear. 

"They found it this morning on their kitchen table." She says in another sigh. "He took his school bag and a few changes of clothes with him." 

Steve looks at the paper in his hand as if it was cursed.

> _Dear Mr and Mrs Cabe,_
> 
> _Bethany, John, you have been very nice to me, so please don't take this personally. I have been treated well in your household and this is not the reason why I am leaving today. I want to live with detective Rogers and he wants me too. I don't doubt you would have raised me well but I really really want to live with Mr Rogers. Please forgive me if I get you worried. I'll be fine but I won't come home until the court agrees to appoint Mr Rogers as my legal guardian._
> 
> _Yours faithfully,_
> 
> _Tony_

His heart skips a beat and starts racing again.

"I—I—I—I don't understand." Steve stammers. "He was doing fine. He was adjusting. I—"

"Find him, detective!" Judge Franklin demands. "Find him and I'll give you two months trial." Steve raises disconcerted eyes to her and lets escape a gasp of hope. "I do not condone this attitude, not at all, and I _swear,"_ she insists while pointing an accusatory finger at him. "I swear that if there's _one_ thing. Just one mistake. I'll make sure the two of you never get the chance to meet again. Am I being clear?"

"Crystal clear, your honor."

"And I hope you'll teach him other values than blackmail. The _court_ decides where the children shall live, not the kids."

Steve straightens up and instinctively crosses his arms behind his back. "I will, you honor."

"We'll be on your back, Rogers! You'll have weekly interviews with caseworkers and physicians and five surprise visits. I want a psychologic follow-up and we'll ask the school to make an assessment as well. You two better be as pure as the driven snow. And remember this, Rogers, I'm acting in the child's interest. We all do. Always. Prove me that I'm not making a mistake when entrusting you with the boy."


	11. First night

Steve didn't have to search for too long for the little boy. 

He got a call from his neighbor barely an hour after leaving Judge Franklin's office. There was a kid on his threshold. Steve called the judge and his foster parents and urged home where the nice old lady from next door had agreed to keep an eye on Tony until he arrives. From afar, not to freak him out. Steve was so scared one wrong move, even the most insignificant one, would make the boy flee again.

When he arrives in front of his door, the little boy is there. Sleeping on his doormat, his head resting on his school bag and clinging to the bunny like to a lifebuoy, the little boy keeps his eyes open always, to be on the alert and ready to slip away at the first potential danger. 

It's both endearing and heart-wrenching. 

Steve looks at the frail body, hesitant to disturb the boy's apparent peacefulness. He had forgotten how small the little boy really was. Tony takes so much space when he's awake. He's like a vortex sucking in all the air and energy in the room.

But he can be invisible too, when he wants. When he's scared...

Curled into a ball, the little boy is no bigger than a fat cat and fits his entire body on Steve's small doormat. There's an half-empty glass of milk next to him and a few crumbs around it.

His neighbor silently paces outside her apartment in her faded pinkish bathrobe. She smiles to Steve and puts her clumsy wrinkled hand on his shoulder. "He hasn't moved from his spot," she mutters in a quivering voice, "I'm glad he's eaten the cookies."

"Thank you, Mrs Marple." Steve says in a grateful nod. He gets along well with her, has done her favors more than once. She knows she can count on him and he returns the feeling. Steve would like to keep it that way. He looks at the small huddled form of the boy and sighs, then he turns weary and watery eyes to her, fixing her peaceful gaze. "Thank you so much." He repeats and realizes as his words escape his mouth how much they sound like a sob. 

He feels a shiver run through him. One of relief and fear. He's so scared, he realizes. Now that it's become real. He's terrified.

In a silent understanding, Mrs Marple nods to him and returns to her apartment, leaving them alone for their reunion.

Steve crouches down next to the boy and brushes his knuckles down the little boy's cheek and whispers his name softly, sighing the letters on the tip of his tongue. 

Tony's eyes flicker awake, he sits up in a jerk and stares into Steve's ones with a dumbfounded expression. The little boy gasps and parts his lips at the sight of Steve's sad smile. A million things are pooling into the brown of his irises. Mostly fear. He's restless, waiting for the lecture, until Steve presses a warm splayed hand on his little chest in reassurance.

"It's alright, kiddo." Steve says cautiously. "You can stay here tonight." He doesn't need to get his hopes up for nothing because it's not official yet. 

Tony curls up, squeezing the bunny tight and hiding his fear behind its nibbled ears. Steve can only see the top of his long eyelashes and the tousled tuft of his dark hair. He holds his hands and slips them under the boy's frail armpits. Tony lets himself be hauled up and envelops his arms and legs around Steve. This time he doesn't cling to him like he usually does, like his life depends on it. He's exhausted and his body goes limp. He trusts Steve to carry him inside and not let him go. 

It's the first time Tony isn't scared of Steve letting him go.

The first time he puts that much trust in Steve, besides their first encounter.

Steve slowly wraps his strong arms around him protectively. Steve would like to protect him from the whole world for the rest of his life. He buries his head in the crook of Tony's neck, the latter is half asleep and Steve breathes him in, exhaling a long sigh of relief and happiness. Just a short moment during which Steve allows himself that. Tony hums softly and if Steve's eyes are wetter than they're supposed to, well, no-one will know about it.

Steve gently drops the boy off on one of the kitchen's chairs. Tony rubs his eyes open while Steve is rummaging in his cupboards only to realize he has nothing to offer the boy. Unfortunately, he hadn't planned to receive anyone tonight, or in the near future for all that matter. Actually, Steve has mostly been living on take out whether dinner happened on patrol or latish at home, or his mom's food on his best days.

"You hungry?" He asks while giving himself a figurative slap for so little anticipation. Perhaps, he'll find a forgotten can of tomato sauce or something and some dry pasta.

The little boy's eyes shine gratefully but his response doesn't match the sparkle in his gaze. He shrugs, looking shy and embarrassed, although Steve has shared enough meals with him to know that he's probably starving. And the boy has a good appetite usually.

Steve scratches his head, mulling over what to order. He glances at Tony who looks ill-at-ease, perhaps afraid to impose. Maybe the boy would feel better with the warmth of a home cooked meal. "Hey," he attempts, showing his best smile. "Would you like to meet my mama?"

The boy doesn't answer and stares at him with a puzzled face. Steve reckons he'd like to stay with Steve tonight. The boy isn't very sociable, he noticed. He makes efforts but he's usually wary around people and Steve doesn't want to stress him any further by introducing someone new tonight. Introducing Tony to his parents could wait until he felt safer, too bad for Ma's certainly amazing homemade supper. The little boy seems on edge, he must have had a really stressful day. How scared must he be—to brave all of that so as to find again the safety and comfort that Steve's embrace apparently provides him.

Steve wonders if he's the only one, beside Jarvis, to have shown the boy that he cared, _really_ cared about him.

Pasta and canned tomato sauce it will be then. It's not bad but Tony seems to eat it with restraint. He avoids Steve's gaze. Steve runs a hand in his tousled hair and ruffles it, then he lets his fingers wander on the boy's baby face, fondling him with soft caresses. "Are you tired, kiddo?" He asks with a voice much hoarser he intended too. His words are pregnant with worry, relief and empathy. He's tired too, even though it's still early. Emotionally exhausted. He left work in the middle of the day to run after a sly little boy, much too cunning for his own good.

Tony nods slowly and his fork falls from his trembling hand. He bows his head down, so low Steve is afraid he's gonna drop it down on his pasta.

"Are you mad?" Tony's insecure little voice asks suddenly.

Steve stops his ministrations and pulls his hand back, straightening on his chair. He frowns at the boy. "I'm not mad, Tony." He sighs in a long exhale. "I'm just relieved. Anything could have happened to you. I was very worried." The boy sniffles, in a pretend sob. "It's very bad what you did today."

The boy curls up even more, wanting to disappear. "m sorry." He mumbles and then he dares a hopeful glance at Steve. "Are you gonna take me back to Mr and Mrs Cabe?

Steve smiles sadly and tucks a lock of Tony's hair behind his ear, uncovering his face. "No." He just says, and adds, "we have an appointment with Judge Franklin tomorrow morning."

The boy's eyes flare open and he stares up at Steve, silently curious.

"Is she angry with me?"

"Very angry!" Steve answers, trying to be strict and inflexible but his heart isn't in it. "But she read your letters and will study your request."

The boy's expression brightens as if he was suddenly letting himself hope for the first time. There's almost the hint of a smile on his lips.

Steve shows Tony the room he prepared for him, with the help of his ma and Laura. After a quick shower the boy goes to bed without protest. He slips in the child bed and still looks small in it, buried underneath the Disney-themed comforter.

Steve reads him stories until his eyes flutter shut and plants a soft kiss on his forehead. Then he goes back to the kitchen to clean up and collapses on his couch when he's done. He watches some TV, mainly sports recaps, half-heartedly. 

Once in his bed, Steve can't find sleep. He tosses and turns until he can't take it anymore and pads to the kid's room. Tony is turned on his side, back to Steve, the bunny cradled in his arms. He looks sound asleep but Steve knows he isn't, he can _feel_ it. Maybe he never was and just pretended to be not to bother Steve.

Steve slumps into the armchair beside the bed—Laura's idea, bless her! He splays a warm and comforting hand on the boy's waist. His hand is wide enough for him to feel the boy's jutting ribs heave slowly. In less than a minute Steve can hear the boy's breathing deepen and knows he's finally asleep. He sinks into the armchair and finds sleep just as quickly, lulled by the steady breathing of the boy and the warmth of the small room, finally free from unwanted thoughts and unjustified concern.

The boy does stir and whimpers awake, several times, but a simple hand pressed on his back or his stomach, depending of his position, grounding him and anchoring him to the bed is enough to put him back to sleep before Steve really wakes up.

***

The next day Tony gets scolded badly but walks out of Judge Franklin's office lighthearted.

That night, after dinner and bath, Tony in his pajamas hesitantly paces back and forth, uncomfortable on his feet and bunny never leaving his side. He looks up at Steve like he wants to kiss him goodnight but doesn't dare. Steve brushes his knuckles down his cheek and smiles. "You wanna come over to watch some telly with me before you go to bed?"

The boy pinches his lips and nods earnestly.

Steve puts on the only tape with cartoons he has and tucks him under his arm. The boy shoves his thumb in his mouth along with one of the bunny's ear and relaxes, cradled in Steve's embrace.

"You remember what Judge Franklin said, right?" He says softly. The boy gives a quick, embarrassed nod. "You need to be good for two months. Can I count on you?" The boy nods again, this time with earnest enthusiasm. "Do you promise?" 

Tony is quick to answer. "I promise." 

Steve rakes a gentle hand in his hair and lets his fingers brush down his soft cheek again. He tightens his embrace around the boy, pressing him against him, enjoying his warmth, his smell, the fast beating of his heart. Everything. And exhales a long sigh. Half a purr, half a tired moan.

"I'm very happy to have you here, with me." Steve says without thinking. The words leaving his mouth before he can think on it.

He hears a soft huff coming out of the boy's mouth—a happy sound—and leans forward and tilts his head to look at the boy's face. His eyes are twinkling and he's repressing a smile. A real smile. 

Steve pokes at his middle section, making the boy jerk and giggle. When he stops and their eyes meet. It's a full-bright smile that illuminates the boy's face. It quickly vanishes but it was there.

"Tomorrow, we'll visit your new school. Are you happy?" 

"Yes."

Tony falls asleep within ten minutes and Steve waits for him to settle in a deep sleep before carrying him to his bed. He spends another night by his side, unable to leave him alone. Unable to find sleep unless the boy is in close proximity.


	12. A happy home

Steve was afraid the smile would be a single occurrence but it really isn't.

In fact, everyday Steve discovers a new variant of Tony's smile and the range of the emotions displayed on his face grows exponentially as days pass by. He laughs more often too. Even if it's still very shy.

Steve had thought Tony would be a challenge to raise but it's none of the sort. The little boy is surprisingly—uncannily even—easy.

He never cries, never disobeys, he never throws tantrums. Steve feels like he's living with a robot child some times. Tony is very autonomous too. He gets up on his own, makes his own breakfast, makes _Steve's_ coffee in the morning. He lays the table, clears the table, empties the dishwasher, puts his dirty clothes in the laundry basket, tidy up his room without needing to be asked, takes his bath, brushes his teeth and goes to bed without even an ounce of reluctance. He even helps Steve clean his apartment. 

It's not that Steve expects him to do so, nor that he doesn't want to do all that for him or wouldn't do it happily if given the chance. Tony just beats him to it even time. Which confirms Steve's primary assumption about Tony's intents. He definitely made their life a hell on purpose. With Steve he's just the perfect child, the sweetest little boy ever.

It's a different kind of challenge that awaits Steve. He's actually making a point of trying to bring Tony back to his child status. He's trying to get him to stop bothering about adult business, trying to make him play and do stupid things and have fun like a normal kid. It's a heavy challenge but it seems to be working. Slowly. And each day Steve discovers more and more of Tony's cuteness.

That first week, Steve took the time off. He wanted to be there, with the kid, for his first days at his new school. He wants the boy's transition into his new life to go as smoothly as possible. They go shopping to make Tony's bedroom more personal and Tony is very shy about spending Steve's money. Steve needs to trick him about it. For a rich kid, he's certainly _not_ spoiled.

Steve waits a week to introduce the boy to his mum. The encounter is timid but warm nevertheless. Steve is pretty sure the boy will love his Ma in no time. Next week he'll introduce him to his dad, then to his sister and his nephew and niece and the next it will be Tony's birthday and Steve is very much planning to make it the best birthday he ever had. Not that the bar is set very high, if what Jarvis implied is to be trusted.

Now Steve needs to get back to work and he's a little anxious about it but it's going to be fine, he knows it. He trusts the little boy to work hard for it. 


	13. Wet dreams

It all started with the laundry detergent.

He lifts the plastic container without thinking and finds out it's surprisingly light. _Uh,_ Steve thinks. And when he pours some into the washing machine he notices the thing's half empty, although he's pretty certain he bought it last week. Sure, the frequency of his laundry chores increased ever since Tony came to live with him but not to that point. He doesn't dwell on it though.

The next thing that startles Steve is when he goes to the boy's room to change his sheets and realizes they still smell of lavender softener. _Uh._

He doesn't dwell on it either but it does raise questions.

It's only a couple of days later, as he's waken up by a nightmare in the middle of the night—he does have them a lot lately—that he finally understands what's going on.

It's sudden wave of anxiety that flushes through him and wakes him up. He jumps out of bed, feeling the urge to check on the boy—this does happen quite often too. When he enters the boy's bedroom however, heart pounding hard in his chest, he realizes with terror that the boy isn't in his bed. He almost panics but then notices that neither are the sheets, nor the mattress protector. 

He switches the light on and scans the seemingly empty room. It _is_ empty. Then, he walks over to the bed and looks closely at the mattress. It has been turned upside down. He lifts it and pats the underside, it's faintly stained and a little wet. 

Right.

Of course.

Steve knows where the boy is now.

He rushes down to the basement. The laundry room looks empty as well but the dryer is running and there is a container of liquid laundry detergent that strangely looks very much like the one Steve buys that was left on top of the washing machine. Steve almost runs off in panic at the quiet emptiness of the room, his heart racing, but then stops in his tracks, props a hand on the door frame and tries to think, eyes closed and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks back. There's something out of place in that room. 

In a swift movement, he turns around and scans the room in order to find what it is that feels uncanny. And there, he finds it... the pile of rumpled sheets that lies underneath the small table at the corner. There's something inherently wrong with it or maybe it's just an intuition. Steve has lots of those. He walks over to it and crouches down, tugs on the sheets delicately only to find one butt-naked Tony Stark curled into a ball, sleeping like a baby in the safety of his little hidey-hole.

Steve's lips quirk up on their own and turn into a fond smile. 

He puts the sheets back over the little boy so he wouldn't catch a cold and stands up. Hands on his hips, he stares at him. His little thumb is stuck into his mouth and his bunny tucked in his arms, always close, always with him. 

Steve glances at the red digital clock on the dryer. There's only four minutes left. He leans against the wall beside the table and slides down on his butt, hovering a protective hand on the boy and shaking his head in a tired snort.

When time is up, he pulls Tony's sheets and pajama pants out of the dryer and folds them in his arms. Then, he picks up the boy without waking him up and cradles him into his embrace. He walks up the stairs, gets inside his apartment on clumsy legs, lays the boy on his own bed and goes off to his room to make his bed with newly cleaned sheets.

As he walks back into his room and looks at the boy sleeping so peacefully on his bed, nose buried into his pillow, he can't muster the courage to bring him back to his lonely room so he slides the boy's clean and still warm pants up his skinny legs, cradles him against his chest and pulls the comforter over both of them.

That morning he makes a point of waking up before the boy and waits for him in the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed against his chest, he watches the boy sneak into a still dark kitchen. The boy startles when he notices his presence and glances up at him sideways, a shy though insolent pout on his face.

Steve frowns. "Tony," he says with a much sterner tone than he intended to. The boy's eyes flicker up to him. "Did you wet your bed, last night?"

The little boy freezes and sucks in a shuddering breath. He darts wary eyes to Steve, like he needs to check him but can't quite meet his gaze. There's embarrassment flushing his cheeks but also sheer, indisputable _fear_ in those eyes. Tony steps back against the wall, chest heaving and body shivering. He's all hunched up on himself, terrified, but stares at Steve a little defiantly, bracing himself for the—for the _blow?_

A shiver runs down Steve's spine. He drops his hands on his sides, helpless for a split second, and then he drops on his knees and crouches in front of the boy, trying to be as unthreatening as he can. "Hey Tony, it's okay," he whispers, voice stuck in his throat. "It's okay." He tries to bring a soft hand to the boy's hair. "It happens. It's not a big deal, alright? I'm not mad at you. Not at all. I just—" he hesitates, looking for the best words. "I just want you to wake me up if it happens again. So I can change the sheets myself and you won't have to go down in that basement on your own, okay?"

The boy nods but still looks a little wary. Steve rakes a hand in his hair and the boy lets him and leans into the touch.

"Hey, what do you say we buy some waterproof mattress-protector today so you won't have to worry about it again, alright?"

Tony nods again. It's still shy but Steve can feel the relief spread in the boy's whole body in the way he relaxes to the touch.

They go shopping that afternoon. And Tony never ever wetted his bed again.


	14. First birthday

It's been a month already. A month of bliss.

And today, they're supposed to be celebrate Tony's birthday.

It's spectacular the way Tony changed in only a month of living with Steve. He almost can't remember the days when the boy didn't _'feel like'_ smiling, to quote Tony himself. Now, there's always a huge grin plastered on his face. It's almost too much. The boy's so energetic, hopping about all the time, overly excited about even the littlest things. It's _exhausting._ Well, almost, if it literally didn't make Steve internally giddy with happiness each time.

Steve is aware that Tony's behavior has mainly changed when he's around him and only him. The boy is still very shy around others, even if he's starting to show Steve's mother more and more of his cute smiles. But that's still progress, he reckons, and it confirms his first opinion on the whole thing. Taking Tony in was the right thing to do. He sincerely hopes this now will be enough. That the caseworkers and doctors and shrinks will see those progresses the way Steve sees them.

Tony isn't awake when Steve gets up that morning. Unusual. But good. Perfect even. It will give Steve the chance to spoil the boy rotten with the best breakfast ever. When the little boy finally pads into the kitchen, the table is covered with what Steve's learnt are all of Tony's favorite morning foods. Bacon, eggs, bagels, cheese, muffins, cookies and a large mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows on top. 

The tired little boy doesn't make any comment when he sits down on the table and rubs his eyes awake with a discreet yawn. When he opens them and finally notices his eyes widen and he stares, perplexed at the table. Steve snorts, arms crossed against his chest. "Happy birthday, kiddo." He mutters softly. 

Tony jerks his head up and gapes at him, all sorts of different emotions flashing through his eyes. He stares at Steve silently, looking disconcerted. 

"Today's the 29th." Steve clarifies because, apparently, the little boy hasn't got a clue. "It's your birthday, right?" He asks with a strained smile, he's growing unsure by the second as the little boy keeps staring at him bewilderedly, as if Steve had just said something completely incoherent. (The boy tends to do that, correct Steve, or anyone when they say something that doesn't make any logical sense to him.) The little boy finally nods. "We're gonna have lunch at Nana today. You okay with that?"

Tony nods again, feeling a little more at ease. The hint of a smile starts to appear on his face.

"Lila and Cooper will be there." Steve adds with a gentle smile.

Tony has seen them twice. He can't say they're best friends yet but they're growing accustomed to each other and Steve is convinced that they would form attachment in time. After all, he's counting on his sister to help him with this. He wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for his mother's and sister's support.

The little boy answers his smile with a quick one but it looks more like the boy's indulging Steve rather than real happiness at the news. He finally takes his large mug and dips his lips in the foamy texture. His eyes sparkle and Steve can finally see an authentic smile, though timid, on his face.

Tony nibbles at his food and finishes his chocolate with little enthusiasm. When he's done there's more than half of his portion left. He looks at Steve with utter but demure gratitude and indulges him with a shy smile again. "Thank you, Steve." He mutters before retreating to his bedroom in silence with a book.

There's a little pang of disappointment inside Steve's chest but he gulps down the last of his coffee and follows the boy into his room.

Tony is sitting hunched up on his bed, his arms curled around his knees and his chin resting on his knee-caps. He stares into space, the book unopened at his feet. He's still wearing his pajamas.

Steve leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms on his chest. "Are you okay, buddy?"

The little boy shrugs.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't like birthdays."

Steve lets out a surprised chuckle and walks over to the bed, putting a warm and comforting hand on the little boy's shoulder. "It's okay, you don't have to like them." He says softly. "I'll make sure you have a great day. Because today is your day!" Tony glances up at him with a lopsided grimace, he looks even more disconcerted, and frowns, outwardly skeptical.

"Hey, why don't you get dressed?" Steve suggests nonchalantly. "I thought I might take my baby out and give you a ride, what do you think? We could pop in at the hospital to see Jarvis. You'd like that?"

The little boy doesn't answer but his eyes sparkle and he gapes at Steve, not a word coming out of his mouth. Steve takes that as a yes.

Steve bought a helmet and protections for Tony so he could take him on his bike. He can't just borrow the patrolling cars indefinitely. He's extra careful but does muster up a few accelerations that give them both the best sensations. He knows the little boy likes speed. 

They pop by the hospital and Jarvis is delighted to see them both. To see how great Tony is doing. The little boy runs up to him and gives him a kiss, which impresses the old man to the point of blushing. They talk for a moment, Tony proudly telling the old man everything about his new life and Jarvis listening attentively, smile growing into a wide grin on his face. He glances at Steve from time to time, his eyes filled with gratitude and happy relief.

Jarvis is looking much better than the last time Steve saw him. He's ready to finally leave the hospital. After all, he's still the family butler and steward of their property in Manhattan, among others. (The old man's in charge of dealing with the staff and managing the private possessions of the Stark family before Tony becomes of age and receives his inheritance—that was in Howard's will—while Stark Industries is currently under the temporary supervision of Howard Stark's former business partner, some guy named Stane, who's acting as interim CEO until Tony is old enough to officially take over after his father.) Steve is glad to hear such a wonderful news. He's hoping to keep a strong connection with Edwin Jarvis so the little boy doesn't feel rejected again. He wants him to have as many referents as he can have. He deserves that, people looking out for him.

They part on a happy note.

Tony is more relaxed on the way back. He clutches Steve's waist with all his strength, pressing his little body against his back. Steve rings the bell of his parents' house with his arms loaded. Both his and Tony's helmets hanging from his left forearm and the little boy clinging to his right side, head resting on Steve’s shoulder.

When Sarah opens, Tony buries himself in the crook of his neck, being shy. She laughs and pokes at his side to induce a reaction from him. Which works, mostly. “Hello, little bird!” The boy looks at her sidelong, half-lidded eyes seemingly uninterested, at first. But she pokes again and Tony grumbles, rubbing his face against Steve’s jacket. “Happy birthday!” When he looks at her again there's a faint, although genuine smile on his face.

His smile becomes a full blown-out one when Steve's sister arrives with her husband and two kids. They kids are being shy at first, dancing around each other hesitantly but when Steve and Clint takes them outside for a round of pitch-and-catch everything settles down and they start initiating conversations without the help of an adult. Mostly, Tony explains life to the two others with a disconcerting assurance and they listen to him, enthralled by his every word. Lila is almost eight years old though and her brother Cooper is two years older.

Sunday lunches are always grand at the Rogers household. Birthday lunches are something else. It's already past two when they bring the cake. Tony dazedly watches Sarah carry an enormous gray cake in the shape of an engine with a little flag on it blazing "Happy birthday Tony!" and six huge candles aflame while everyone is singing around him. He's looking stunned and disconcerted and wiggles uncomfortably on his chair. When the cake is brought in front of him he looks around warily, searching in everyone's eyes for answers to an unspoken but crucial question.

"Come on, my boy. You can blow them." Sarah encourages gently. After a round of the table, Tony's eyes flicker back to Sarah and he looks up at her hesitantly, lips slightly parted. She nods encouragingly so he lowers his head toward the cake and blows a tentative puff which only faintly makes the flames flicker but brings a discreetly happy smile on the little boy's face. Sarah shakes her head with a soft, motherly smile. "Come on," she repeats enthusiastically, "blow harder. Take a deep breath and blows those candles. You can do that, can't you?"

Lila and Cooper snigger at the other end of the table while everyone else is holding their breaths. Tony inhales a deep breath until his face looks red and puffed and then he closes his eyes and blows the six candles easily. When he opens his eyes and sees with astonishment that he did it, a huge grin spreads on his face. Everyone cheers and claps their hands. The grin turns into a wholehearted laugh. One of relief, of pride, of excitement, of happiness. For the first time ever since Steve met him, Tony looks happy.

It's a beautiful moment. The sunlight illuminates the dining room and the boy's face like a halo. The rays of light color his dark hair and give it a golden brown shine. Tony's laugh is such a sweet melody to Steve's ears.

The moment is interrupted by Sarah who gives Tony his first gift. His laugh fades to leave place to bewilderment. He looks up at her questioningly. "What is it?"

She smiles at him again. "Open it! And you'll see."

Tony looks at his audience, everyone is looking back at him, half-amused, half-disconcerted by his weird reactions. His eyes are a bit lost. He stares at the colorful wrapping paper, wondering what he's supposed to do with it.

"It's a gift, Tony." Steve finally says, somehow understanding his confusion. "Open it!"

"A gift?" The boy says, eyes widening. "For me?"

Steve feels a pang in his chest. "Of course for you, silly." He says with a sad smile. His words come out as a chuckle that almost sounds like a sob. "It's your day, today."

Tony is so delicate when he opens his presents. He makes the moment last, enjoys every little moment of it, anticipating, trying to guess, turning the packages in all directions, hovering his fingers on the paper as if they were some treasures. Maybe they are.

Sarah's gift is a series of comic books. As soon as Tony sees them he smiles, eyes sparkling with excitement and happiness alike. He darts thankful eyes here and there, filled with so much gratitude it's unsettling. Then, he opens another gift. From Laura and Clint. Lego boxes. The little boy gapes at his gifts and jerks giddily on his chair. He get balls, a pair of baseball gloves and a bat from Steve's father, continuing the tradition. Tony tries them on, touches the material apprehensively, delicately, observes every little detail thoroughly. His hands are trembling as if he couldn't handle the excitement of having so many gifts at once. Steve finally gives him his own.

Like all previous ones, Tony turns it every which way, shakes it slowly, assess the size, the weight, hovers his fingers. It's flat and long with little squares on the surface. It's not very heavy. Tony finally tears off the wrapping paper. It's a keyboard. 

"It's only parts of it." Steve specifies. "The rest of it is in your bedroom at home." 

Tony doesn't need more explanations to understand that Steve offered him one of those fancy computers from Radioshack he always drools at with envy every time they walk past the window display. His smile dies down and he starts breathing heavily, chest heaving in jerky and erratic movements. Steve stares at him questioningly and can only see a glimpse of his crestfallen face before the little boy dashes out of the room and runs outside through the back door.

They all hear the door slam and look at each other, startled and clueless. Steve silently asks his mum with a desperate gaze. She shrugs at him and shakes his head, expression worried. Then he turns to Laura who gives him more or less the same response.

Steve hurried after him, scared he might do something stupid and run away again, but the little boy is just hiding under the cherry tree in his parent's garden. He joins him. The boy stands behind the trunk, leaning his head against it and holding himself straight with two hands circling the small trunk. Too many emotions to handle for today.

"Tony, what's wrong?"

"Today is not a nice day." He answers, voice shuddering. "It's not supposed to be nice."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not supposed to celebrate." Tony continues.

Steve looks at him questioningly, keeping some distance between them. He tries to understand. "Have you never celebrated your birthday before?"

"Today is not supposed to be celebrated." He repeats. "It's the day my mum died." 

The words hit Steve like a slap on the face. He feels like a freezing breeze is prickling his sensitive skin. Or maybe it's the shiver that runs down his spine that makes him feel suddenly cold.

"It's your birthday too, Tony. It doesn't have to be a sad day, you know?" He says with a lump in his throat. 

The boy starts hiccuping. "But my dad, he—" 

Steve walks closer and crouches down to be at the same height as the boy. He puts his hands on the boy's shoulder, containing, reassuring, strong. "Look, your father was extremely chagrined by what happened to your mother and it's understandable. It was very hard for him to see anything else but that doesn't mean he was right. It is very sad, and unfair, what happened to her and you're allowed to be angry, Tony. You're allowed to be sad and angry and to grieve. But you mustn't forget that something else happened on that day, something wonderful and amazing." Steve gets closer, eyes searching the boy's and when they find them they lock together. _"You._ You were born on that same day, Tony. _You._ And that's a cause for celebration. I'm sure your mum would rather see you smile and laugh like you did today than see you sad." Tony's eyes are pooling with something unreadable but heart-wrenching. "That doesn't mean that you're forgetting about her," Steve continues. "It's just means you honor her differently."

The little boy starts calming down and stops shaking. He stares at Steve disbelievingly but still hopeful.

"Hey, would you like me to take you to her grave? So you can talk to her and tell her about your day?"

The little boy nods but his expression remains a little skeptical. "She won't hear me," he says rationally. "She's dead." 

"She will if you believe it with all your heart." Steve tells him with a consoling smile.

They ride on the bike all the way to Manhattan again. Steve holds the little boy's hand tightly in his when they meander in the Catholic cemetery. He takes Tony to the Stark family vault where both his parents are buried. Once in front of it, Tony looks at it from a short distance, reading the names in silence, again and again and again. He steps a little closer and crouches down, tracing his thin fingers on the letters carved into the stone. 

"You can talk to them, if you want." Steve encourages. 

"What should I say?" Tony asks. His voice sounds strained and breathless.

"Anything you want."

The little boy steps back and stares in silence for a long while. Steve can see how upset and restless he is but doesn't know how to help him. He just stays by his side silently. Tony's expression wrenches and his mouth twists, his lips and his hands are trembling. He clenches and unclenches his fists and grits his teeth like he wants to cry but doesn't let himself shed even one tear. 

"I don't—I don't have anything to say." Tony chokes out into a whine. "They're dead. I'm never gonna see them again." 

He's shaking Iike a leaf.

Steve plants his hand on the boy's shoulder and stays there, strong and grounding and comforting. 

"It's okay to cry if you're upset, you know..." He suggest encouragingly.

"I'm not a wimp!" The little boy protests. "Stark men don't cry. They're made of iron."

Steve almost chuckles but it sounds miserable. "Did your father told you that?" He asks hoarsely. 

"Yes."

"Everyone cries, Tony!" Steve exclaims. "Even _I_ do, sometimes. Does that make me a wimp?" Tony jerks his head up in Steve's direction. Eyes wide-open. "Do you think I'm a wimp?" 

The little boy shakes his head furiously. 

Steve holds his arms to him. "Come with me." He says and Tony throws himself into his embrace. Steve wraps his arms around the boy's small and shaky body and whispers to his ear. "It's okay, Tony. I'm here." He rubs his back softly, feeling the little boy relax in his embrace. "It's okay to be sad. And it's okay to cry when you need to. Crying makes you feel better. And I'll be there every time you're upset and need to cry, I promise."

With Steve's permission Tony lets go and starts sniffling and hiccuping in the crook of his neck. His whole body is shaking in Steve's arms and when Steve tightens his embrace around him the little boy falls apart, finally, and cries. He cries his eyes out, sobbing and quivering against Steve's chest. He cries all the tears that refused to come before and Steve rubs a warm hand soothingly on his back, repeating softly. "It's okay, kiddo. It's okay. I got you."

When the boy finally regains his composure, or is simply empty and exhausted, Steve picks him up and carries him to his bike.

"I remember her." Tony mumbles in the crook of Steve's neck, breath warm and tickling.

Steve makes an abrupt halt. "You _what?"_

"I remember her." 

"Tony you can't possibly remember. You were too young."

The boy grumbles and buries his face into Steve's shoulder. Steve resumes his stride.

"But I remember her voice," Tony insists, "and what she said to me when she held me. _Piccino mio. Il mio bambino carino_. It's Italian, I checked. I remember the light too."

Steve stops walking again, heart racing in his chest. He doesn't say a word. Tony hums against his chest, arms curled around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I had decided randomly before writing this that Tony would be born in 1982, which means his 6th birthday should happen on May 29th 1988. I checked the date... As it happens, it was a Sunday... Yeay!


	15. Sweet dreams

There's a sliver of light glimmering through the door frame of Tony's bedroom.

It's four am.

And sure, Steve is awake too, right? Although he's usually a heavy sleeper. He'll agree to admit, at least, that since he's taken Tony in he's been having difficulties to sleep well. With irregular phases. Many more nightmares. And he wakes up several times in a night. It's normal, isn't it? It's been a major change in their lives, an overwhelming one, for both of them. It's completely understandable that they both need some time to adjust. 

It's been more than a month now, though.

And Steve's sleeping schedule is still irregular. And the light is still on in Tony's bedroom. At four am.

Steve pads to Tony's bedroom with catlike stealth and scratches softly on the door. There's no answer. He presses his ear against the wood and tries to listen. The silence is overwhelming but Steve knows with his guts that the little boy is awake. He delicately pushes the door open and the little boy is sat on his bed, reading a book, Dede on his lap—Dede, as in Detective Rogers, shorter nickname Tony has, thankfully, given to his bunny lately.

The boy raises his head in Steve's direction when the latter steps inside. Their eyes meet. Tony's are weary and dark circles around them contrast with the paleness of his skin. Steve's heart sinks.

"Can't sleep?" Steve asks in a hoarse, hollow voice. It almost sounds like someone else's.

The little boy shakes his head.

"Scared?"

The boy lowers his head in embarrassment but admits it with an inconspicuous nod.

"It's alright if you are, Tony. But you're safe here. Nothing's gonna happen to you."

Tony stares at him from the corner of his eye, frowning a little. "I know." Steve feels a light pang in his chest. He walks over to him and squats beside him. He brings a hand on the boy's face and brushes his cheek soothingly with his thumb. They both sigh in content relief. 

"Did you have a nightmare again?"

The little boy nods, leaning into Steve's touch, seeking his warmth.

"I hate knowing that you're scared on your own in that room, Tony. You can call me if that happens again, okay?"

Tony nods.

"Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?"

Tony nods again.

"Okay." Steve said in a yawn. The mention of sleep reminds him how tired he is himself and how much he wants to go back to the warmth of his own bed. He sits on the armchair beside the little boy's bed and unintentionally sighs. "Give me that book. I'll read to ya." He yawns again.

At the second page, Steve can hear the heavy breathing that means Tony's asleep. He can feel his own lids close on their own, heavy on his eyes. He falls asleep on the armchair again and wakes up the next morning with a backache.

That night he sends Tony to bed around 8:30. As usual he reads him a story and the little boy listens to him while sucking his thumb and squeezing Dede tightly in his arms.

He's not asleep yet when Steve leaves the room. The little boy genuinely loves reading in his bed at night. When Steve comes back around 10 to check on him, he's sprawled all over the bed in a tangle of sheets and limbs, hand cling on the bunny's leg and three different books lying on top of him. Steve smiles at the sight. He grabs the books and puts them back on the shelves, tuck the little boy in bed and pulls up the comforter, switches off the lights, leaving the solar system night-light on—Tony chose it—and watches him sleep for a couple of minutes before leaving the room, door slightly ajar. 

Later that night, around 12:30 am, as Steve has just fallen into a blissful restorative sleep, he's waken up by a knock on his door. He lets out a sleepy groan and rubs his heavy lids open. "What?" He mumbles.

Tony is standing in the doorframe, Dede in his hand, hanging to the floor. "I can't sleep."

"D'ya have a nightmare again?"

The boy probably nods but Steve is too fucking tired to see it. His eyelids are stuck, heavy with sleep. He kind of knows he shouldn't but he's in sleeping mode right now and doesn't always make the best decisions in that half-conscious state. His hand tugs on the comforter on its own, as a silent invitation to get into his bed. "Come over." He mumbles. 

The little boy didn't need to be asked twice. He rushes into Steve's bed and snuggles against him, finding his own dedicated space in Steve's bed, cradled in his embrace. Steve lays an heavy arm on top of him and is asleep in mere seconds.

The following morning, when Steve regains consciousness and realizes the little boy is stirring next to him, he just says "you can come to my room at night if you have nightmares, Tony. Any time."

The next day he falls asleep on his own and wakes up with Tony is his bed.

He hasn't realized it yet, but he just gave the boy free access to his bed. _Any_ time. Which is fine really. Steve doesn't regret it. At all. 

_Yet_.

Much later on only will he realize the scale of its consequences. _Years_ later.


	16. A summer at the Rogers'

When he heard that his son was about to foster an orphan, Joseph Rogers didn't really know what he thought about it. He remained quiet, didn't speak his mind. He just knew that he wouldn't have had much choice in the decision-making anyway. If his son got it into his thick head that he would and that his equally stubborn wife had agreed to it there wasn't much he could have said or done to prevent it. When the two of them team up against him it is a lost cause. Joseph might as well stay out of it. 

He has never been at ease with kids anyway and kids usually aren't at ease with him either.

He _does_ regret it, not taking the time to build a close relationship with his children. Especially his son, Steve, whom he's so proud of, even though he never told him. He's very proud of his daughter too, but daughters are usually more lenient with their fathers. His relationship with Laura has never been as distant and contentious as his relationship with Steve. His son needed his guidance, needed his time, needed him to take him in his arms and tell him how proud he was of him, how much he loved him, how much he mattered. 

Joseph Rogers was never able to do that.

Even now he doesn't. He can't muster the courage to grab his son's shoulders and give him a hug like the ones Steve gives his foster son. He can't look him in the eyes and tell him he loves him. That's not the kind of things fathers did in his time. Fathers provided. And Joseph provided, came home late at night, worked himself to death in the metalworking factory, just like his own father did before him, fifty hours a week, never took holidays, damaged his health to the point he had to retire early. 

It hasn't been easy. They didn't always make ends meet at the end of the month. Sarah had to work hard, taking night shifts, being on duty more weekends than not—still does—but they were able to pay their mortgage and send both their kids to college. Even if Laura has decided to become a full-time mum she still got a degree and learnt a trade. And Steve, well, Steve has always wanted to serve his country and there was nothing that could stand in his way, not a stern and inflexible father anyway, but Joseph is proud of having succeeded in convincing his son not to enlist and find his way in the Police force instead of the army. He wouldn't have borne it.

War he knows. He served in Vietnam. The horror he saw there wounded him for life and not only physically. If it wasn't for the gentle hands of a certain nurse he would have lost himself. He still dreams about it. Maybe he's never been able to take his son in his arms and show him love. Maybe he's never been able to, _never taken the time to_ , play with his son or simply spend time with him. But _that,_ he did. He saved his son from war. Steve went to law school, got a degree, went to police academy, became a detective. Being a detective isn't without risks, Joseph knows, but it doesn't _destroy_ people like war does. It was an acceptable compromise. 

It's only later that Joseph realized Steve just wanted to please him, wanted him to be proud. If only he'd known then.

If only he could tell Steve now.

How proud he is. Of his choices, of his successes, of the man he has become.

Of the person he is. 

He watches his son smile at the dark-haired little boy. How beautiful he is with the sun shining on his golden hair and the breeze tousling it. How kindhearted his smile is. How happy he looks. And Joseph can see the sparkle of pride in Steve's eyes. The same one he, himself, tried to hide so many times.

He really wants to take him in his arms but he just pats his shoulder. Steve turns sky blue eyes to him and smiles so generously his heart aches. It aches not being able to breach the distance between them. He manages to smile back however. 

They both look at Tony trying to pitch. 

"He seems to like it." Joseph says, feeling a fluttering of pride in his chest watching the little boy playing with his gift.

Steve's eyes twinkle and he snorts. He turns to him, smile pure and bright like the sun. "He's terrible at it, isn't he?"

Joseph chuckles. "Well, he won't make it pro that's for sure," he says while watching Tony miss the ball for the fourth time, "but at least he's persistent. You can give him that. A stubborn little head that one."

Steve's eyes turn back to the boy and his expression is fond. "I guess he is."

"Reminds me of someone."

Steve chuckles.

Baseball. 

It's probably the only connection Joseph has with his son. The only thing they share. The only thing they agree on, perhaps. Just like him, and his father before him, Steve is a baseball fan and just like him, he supports the Dodgers, even though Steve was born sixteen years after they moved to California. Joseph still remembers with fondness those moments they shared. When he watched the games on TV, sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, and Steve played on the rug at his feet and watched the games too. 

Perhaps it was Steve's way to try and bond with him, in hindsight. 

He used to ask him questions all the time. Joseph wasn't always so keen to answer, he knows. He regrets. If he could turn back time... If he had the chance to do it again he would. He would take Steve on his lap and explain him all the rules. He would play pitch and catch with him in the back garden. He would do all the things he let Sarah do, because he didn't think he was good enough. 

Steve played. A lot. He spent hours playing with the gloves and the bat Joseph bought him when he was six years old. Just like Tony. Just like Cooper before him. But he never played with him. He never found the time to, never dared.

He never dared play with Cooper either. Cooper has his own father, and his uncle, even his mother, to play with him. Besides, Cooper was never really into baseball. He's more of an athletics guy, just like his dad. He swims and does archery. And Joseph is not at ease with kids. Just like he's never been able to bond with Steve, he's never been able to bond with Cooper. 

Joseph might get his chance though.

With Tony.

Tony is not at ease with him either. But Tony isn't at ease with anyone. Anyone but Steve. It took Sarah _weeks_ to tame the little boy and even now he's still aloof, still wary and avoids the touches.

Joseph is no more at ease with the boy than the boy is with him. But it's summertime and he's currently the only one now who can look after the boy. Laura has an appointment. Sarah is at the hospital. Steve is working on a surveillance operation. He's the only one who's got time on his hands. And frankly, when Steve decided—against all common sense—to take the boy in, he should have known. When Sarah said they would support Steve, including _him,_ he should have known. So he braces himself and despite being all awkward about it, he offers Tony to go outside and throw a few balls. 

Against all odds, the little boy accepts. 

Tony is rather an indoor kind of kid. Sports, not his thing. He'd rather play legos or read books or play those new fancy video games kids like so much. And yet they spend an entire afternoon playing pitch and catch. Joseph manages to teach Tony a few tricks. He's a fast learner, even though he's not really good at it. He's stubborn and competitive and hates not nailing it. He keeps trying and trying. He's nimble too and compensates his lack of coordination with an incredible mind.

By the end of the day Joseph had the pleasure to see a few smiles on the boy's face. The proud grin of a boy who finally managed to touch the ball with his bat. The twinkle in his eyes the first time he caught it in his glove. The way his face brightened when he was able to throw the ball across the garden. His soft and lighthearted laugh when Joseph stumbled back and fell on his butt while trying to catch it.

All those smiles, those emotions, are now memories he will cherish for the rest of his life.

He wonders what kind of face Steve would have made. What kind of player he was. Was he good? Was he persistent like Tony? He'll never know, unfortunately. Those moments...he's _missed_ them and he'll never have them. But, with Tony, it seems he's getting a second chance.

The next time he's left alone with the boy, he borrows Cooper's old bike from his daughter. Tony looks at it perplexedly.

"Do you know how this work?"

The little boy shrugs. "Of course, I know." He says matter-of-factly. " _Kinetic_ energy. Bicycles use the energy created by our body to move. The more force you apply, the faster they go. It's a simple machine that will multiply force or speed depending on how you turn it. When the wheel turns on its axle, it accelerates. The taller the wheels, the more they multiply your speed. You use the pedal to turn the wheel and there are gears linked by a chain which make the machine go faster. The force used by pedaling enables the gears of a bike to spin the back wheel. As the back wheel rotates, the tire uses friction to grip the area and move the bike in the desired direction."

Joseph thinks he can feel how slack his jaw went. He stares at the boy with a dumbfounded expression. "Yeah, sure." He says while trying to keep on a serious tone. He smothers a smile. "That's probably how it works, in theory. But have you actually ridden one before?"

The little boy shakes his head.

"Do you wanna give it a go?"

This time it's an honest and eager nods that shakes his head up and down so fast Joseph is afraid he'll hurt his brain.

He holds the bike straight while the boy climbs on the saddle. Tony puts his feet on the pedals with a little hesitancy but he braces himself and grabs the handle determinedly, looking forward with focus. He doesn't dare touch him at first. The boy hates being touched but, progressively, the little boy seems to get more and more comfortable in Joseph's presence and after a few trials, Joseph grabs the boy's waist, settles him on the bike and shows him the moves without even the beginning of a flinch from him.

He counts that as a victory.

Although Tony seems better at it than he is at baseball, or any kind of game played with a ball, he's still lacking in coordination and agility. And he keeps falling off the bike, flat on his hands and knees and Joseph feels a little bad about it. Had he been a better guardian he would have anticipated this, given him protections, insist he wear a pair of trousers instead of shorts but no matter how many times Tony falls, he keeps climbing back on the saddle and try again with at the minimum that same amount of stubbornness his son was gifted—or cursed—with. He doesn't know how Steve learnt how to ride a bike, nor who thought him. Steve was such a fragile kid when growing up. What a find specimen of man he has become now. If it weren't for that square jaw and those sky blue eyes that are so obviously _him,_ he would have thought the kid was not his. He imagines Steve would have had that same determination in his eyes too. 

By the end of the afternoon, Tony is able to ride a few yards without falling off the bike and his smile is angelic and his laugh is exhilarating. He looks so proud of himself. Joseph is proud too. He tells Tony so, and the little boy gives it back to him tenfold with that straightforward and unabashed gratitude of his sparkling in his brown eyes.

When they go back home for some snacks, Joseph notices the little boy's hands and knee caps are scratches and bleeding. He feels flushed by a feeling of guilt. He looks at the boy apologetically. "Tony, you're hurt. I'm so sorry. You should have told me!"

Tony shrugs. "No. I'm fine."

Joseph frowns. "I don't think Nana Sarah will agree with that. She'll be very angry at me."

"So we don't tell her then."

He makes a disapproving grimace. The little boy bows his head embarrassedly. 

Sarah is more amused than angry actually. When she's back from work she tends to the boy's wounds better than Joseph would have ever done it. The one who will freak out is probably Steve. 

But Steve won't be back until later tonight. Tony will have time to have his bath, eat soup with them and get to bed before Steve returns. 

Before he goes to bed however, the little boy—just as Steve before him—plays on the rug down in the living room while he's sitting in his favorite armchair by the fireplace and watching baseball and Sarah is doing crosswords on the couch. The scene is painfully familiar. Except that the tuft of hair is brown and not blond, that the eyes are dark and fiery and not a soft blue and Tony doesn't play with tin soldiers but with an old radio he found in Joseph's garage. One that belonged to his father but has never worked for all he knows. One that Tony has disassembled piece by piece because he's gotten into his head to fix it.

Somehow Joseph's eyes drift away from the game at some point and settle on the focused gaze of the boy. He's pouting, lost in his thoughts, staring at the pieces as if he's trying to resolve a puzzle. From time to time, when one of the teams score, he lifts his eyes up to the screen and reads the result, scrutinizing the game like an analyst. 

Joseph feels the sudden urge to talk to the boy. "You want me to explain the rules to ya?"

Tony shrugs. "I know the rules."

"Did Steve already tell you how the game works?"

Tony shrugs again. "I don't need Steve to explain it to me. It just needs ten minutes of watching to understand those stupid rules. No need to be a genius."

Joseph lets out a surprised laugh. "I guess you're right." 

He returns to the game and takes a swig of his beer. By the time he looks at the boy again, the radio is assembled again. Tony looks up at him. His eyes are hazy with a glint of wariness in them. He looks exhausted. 

And then, against all odds, the little boy stands up and walks a few steps to pick up his bunny only to come back to Joseph and climb on his lap.

He startles. No need to tell you how stunned he is right now. And overwhelmed.

The little boy snuggles against him and finds his own space, cradled in his embrace. There's nothing Joseph can do but wraps his arms around Tony and hold him tight against him. A surge of affection suddenly overwhelms him.

Behind him he hears Sarah snort in a sort of fond way.

Tony is sprawled all over him, hazy eyes turned to the screen looking at the game without really watching. Only ten minutes later, Joseph can feel the dead weight of the boy get heavier on him, the deep and steady breathing and his limbs going limp. The boy is asleep and Joseph holds him a little tighter. 

His lips quirk up into a smile.


	17. A better school

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am well aware how unrealistic it looks like... but I don't wanna change anything about it. I think it's funnier that way...

"Mr Rogers? Thank you for coming."

Steve nods. "It's alright." He says while taking the seat offered to him by the young brunette. Her smile is soft but strained.

He sits down in front of her, feeling a little out of place. He hadn't expected to be summoned this early in the school year. It's been barely three weeks since school started again. So far, there hasn't been anything problematic with Tony but now that the two months' trial have passed then...

Something churns in Steve's stomach.

"So," she starts, sitting uncomfortably on her own seat. She reorders a pile of sheets nervously. "I wanted to talk to you about Tony."

"What about Tony?" Steve snaps, sounding a little too much like he's groaning. The brunette's smile grows even more strained.

"Well... You are aware of the extraordinary capacities of the child, aren't you?" Her eyes fix him strangely, like she's repressing something. 

"I did notice he was smart."

The brunette hisses a surprised noise.

"There is smart, Mr Rogers..." She says in a slightly acerbic tone. "And there's Tony." She clicks her tongue. "He's not just _smart."_ And then she shakes her head helplessly. "I can't teach him."

Steve startles, huffing in surprise, and widens his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"I can't help him, Mr Rogers." Miss Baldwin insists. "I can't teach him anything. He can read, he can write, he can resolve simple maths equations. He knows about history, about geography, about physics, chemistry, biology. His place is definitely _not_ in 1st Grade."

Well...

Steve scratches his chin pensively. 

"Hum," he starts, feeling a stain of embarrassment trailing up along his spine. "I understand, but I guess, perhaps, you could discuss it with the other teachers and maybe he can attend other classes besides your own."

"Or," she suggests, raising an eyebrow and sporting the hint of an evil smile, "he could change school."

Her smirk hides something more than just contempt but it makes Steve's skin crawl nonetheless. His first instinctive thought is that Tony is being rejected again. As if he hadn't been rejected for a life-time already.

It's a cry of indignation that comes out of his mouth. _"What?"_

"There are wonderful schools for children with his abilities." The brunette teacher continues, dismissively. "Schools that would help him get the best out of him. I can give you references."

Steve raises his eyes eyebrow in surprise. "What's wrong with this school?"

"Well, obviously we're not apt to take care of a child like Tony."

Steve frowns. "What are you talking about? Tony's no different than any other child. He doesn't need to be pushed to do his best, he just needs a normal, basic education, friends, benevolent adults around him, supporting him. A normal childhood."

The brunette frowns too and opens her mouth in protest but doesn't speak. She closes it after a moment. 

"Have you spent a lot of time with him, Mr Rogers?" She asks after a short moment of silence.

Steve can feel his cheek heat. He does spend a lot of time with the boy but not nearly as much as he wish he could. And if he were to be completely honest, he hasn't been much available this summer. He can't thank his family enough for taking over Tony's raising and he's so proud of the improvements he made. "yeah."

"So surely you've noticed he _is_ a bit different. And that's an understatement..." 

"Yes, he's _clever._ But he's still a child and I don't think it'll be good for him to be sent in some school with only special kids there. He needs to see the real world, interact with kids his age. He may be smart and precocious on some aspects but emotionally, he's still a six-year-old boy. I don't think he has the maturity to be sent to some school far away from his home."

An annoyed smile spreads on her face. "Mr Rogers, I don't think you understand our situation here. The child is a lot to handle and we don't have the staff or the resources in this small public school to—"

"I thought public schools were that." Steve interrupts with a tinge of anger in his tone. _"Public!_ Meaning, anyone _could_ go."

"How did things go in his previous school?" Miss Baldwin asks. 

Steve lowers his head. "Badly." He mutters embarrassedly. "But that was different, he had just lost his father and was accommodated in a children's home. Now he has loving family and a stable home."

She hums skeptically. "How did things go before that?"

"He was homeschooled."

"Well, maybe that's what's best for him." She stares into his eyes, letting it sink. But her confidence starts plummeting as Steve keeps staring back at her.

"No, it isn't." Steve replies defiantly. "Tony needs to be around people. Education is not priority here. Besides, I can't afford for him to be homeschooled."

The brunette teacher lets out a frustrated snort. "Oh for God's sake, Mr Rogers. The boy is multimillionaire!"

"No." Steve growls and stands up like a menace. He splays his two hands on the desk and instinctively leans forward. "I've been to school here." He snaps. "My sister's been to school here. My little niece and nephew go to school here. It's close to my home, to my job... " He shakes his head in frustration. "I don't want Tony to go another school. And even less to be homeschooled."

He can see the rage fire up in her eyes. She inhales a deep breath through her flared nostrils and grits her teeth. "You should think about what's best for the child, Mr Rogers, and not your personal comfort."

 _"This_ is what's best for _that_ child."

She opens her mouth frustratedly and blinks a few times. Now her eyes have a forlorn glint in them. 

"This is not working Mr Rogers." She lets out in a shuddering breath. "Tony is... irascible, violent... weird...."

"Violent? What do you mean _violent?"_

"I mean he picks up fights with other kids... Or rather other kids are picking fights with him, but it doesn't matter either way because we didn't have that kind of problems before he came. And I get it. I get them."

Steve feels his blood boil.

 _"Are you fucking kidding me?"_ He shouts. "My kid is being bullied and _he_ should be the one to change schools? No fucking way! Do your fucking jobs!"

The young teacher jerks back in shock. Perhaps there's a glimpse of fear lingering in her eyes. He gapes as Steve and breathes hard before frowning. She's obviously at the end of her tether and seems to have used all of her ammunitions. Now she looks helpless without any strategy left to get rid of Tony.

Steve smirks for a split-second before he notices the desperation in her stance. She starts breathing heavily, pulse erratic. 

" _He gives me the creeps_ , Mr Rogers." She blurts with a breathless, almost sobbing voice. "I can't stand having him in my class." She sucks in another shuddering breath. "He keeps staring at me, fixing his gaze on me all the time, piercing me with it, like he's scrutinizing my soul or something. He never smiles. what kind of child never smiles? He pops up behind me without warning like some kind of ghost." Her faces pale now and her lips are trembling. "I have nightmares about him. She almost hiccups. "He told me about _his_ once. And I—I'll never be able to look at him again." She wipes a tear from her eyes and lets out a fearful puff. "This isn't what I signed up for."

Oh.

Steve sits back down on his seat. "I understand." He mutters. "I understand. Tony is a—a very complicated child, who's been through a lot and he can be—he can be difficult sometimes, react— _unexpectedly._ But he's a child. He's a child who's _suffered_ and he just needs someone, someone who will be understanding and kind and considerate. I'm sorry that you can't be that person Miss Baldwin and I shall see the headmaster this instant so we can discuss the fact that you don't have the abilities required to look after my boy and find a solution together because I won't change my decision. Tony will attend this school because it's the best solution for him and for us as a family and I'm sure that you and your colleagues are good professionals to whom I can entrust my boy's education."

Steve stands up on those last words, he leaves. He'll give the headmaster a call in the morning. He strides to the adjacent room where Tony is quietly waiting on one of the benches, reading a book. The little boy raises his eyes to him, questioningly at first and then with an apologetic smile on his lips.

"You got into fights with kids, Tony?"

The little boy shrugs. 

"Stay out of trouble, okay kiddo?"

Tony nods. "I will."

Later that night, Steve has a long conversation about bullies with him. Tony understands but he was just defending Lila. 


	18. Surprise surprise!

December is always a critical time for Sarah Rogers.

Mostly because of Christmas. A long-lived tradition and crucial moment at the Rogers' household. Christmas at the Rogers is a big deal, a family affair, that one time in the year when they are whole reunited as a family, when Joe and Sarah can fully enjoy seeing their children and now grand-children all together. It needs time and a long and meticulous preparation. More and more so as their family is getting bigger year after year.

This year however, there's a new flavor to Christmas celebration. A new family member. One that after months looking after, Sarah knows with certainty, deep in herself, that this particular Christmas will be the best one he ever had. She's very proud of doing her best to make sure it is. All of that for a little boy that she already considers as one of her own.

She was skeptical at first, when her twenty-four celibate son decided to suddenly become a dad. She was reluctant at first when she was promptly asked, by said son, to attend classes about how to educate children as if she hadn't already raised two marvelous ones. She had her doubts about her freshly-out-of-the-nest son's qualities as a dad. She had her doubts, too, about taking in a child with so much baggage. And to be completely honest, she had expected her pre-retirement period to be peaceful and quiet, without the shouts and energy of young kids running around the house. She had thought she would enjoy being a woman and not only a mother and a grand-mother. 

Her doubts lasted about two hours after meeting the boy. And the more she was tasked with watching over him, the more she understood that almost visceral need her son felt to keep him. How could he not? How could _she_ not? If Steve hadn't been up to his paternal role, she would have taken the boy in herself. 

Sarah wakes up early that morning, a big day ahead of her, so much to do. And as if the challenge wasn't already high enough this year, she had a guest last night who, if she guesses right, should already be awake and waiting patiently in his bed to be allowed to get up.

She guessed right. Tony is reading in his bed. His curtains are already open. His bed is made. He's fully clothed and his pjs are folded next to his bed. The first nights he spent at theirs, Sarah wasn't prepared and she found the little boy quietly eating his self-prepared breakfast before she even had the chance to wake up and it broke her mother heart. She saw her Steve, the same age, a scrawly sickly little thing, and how she would make him the best breakfasts she could in which she poured all her love so he would grow strong and healthy. No kid this small should have to make their own breakfast. She immediately banished the boy from her kitchen in her absence and now every time he spends the night, something that happens quite regularly now, she pampers him as best she can, showering him with all the motherly love he deserves and obviously never had.

Tony indulges her and waits patiently for her to wake up and make him breakfast. She thinks he's come to appreciate it but he still have that heartbreaking habit of making himself invisible, as if the sine qua none condition for his stay with them was his utmost discretion and non-disturbance. Children need to be naughty, do silly things, fool around, make _mistakes._ Tony doesn't allow himself to do that. She's been actively trying to change that. 

When she enters the boy's bedroom and singsongs 'good morning,' he raises his eyes from his book and smiles to her, his rare genuine smile. He folds his book close and discards it on the nightstand and then jumps out of bed. He straightens his clothes and pats the bed to erase the marks of his presence on the blanket, pulling up the sheets to make the bed perfectly tidy again. A routine Sarah saw dozens of times before and still makes her cringe. He's _so_ small.

She walks to him and crouches down to reach his level. She's not afraid to touch him anymore and he welcomes it easily now. She runs a hand into his scruffy hair and brushes her fingers down his cheek, cupping his face and rubbing her thumb slowly across his cheekbone. The little boy leans into the touch and instinctively closes his eyes half-lidded. 

"Did you sleep well?" She mutters softly, her words a caress on the little boy's nose.

Tony nods earnestly, shaking his head with some urgency, promptly decided to make her believe so. He pinches his lips as if trying not to speak or do something that might jeopardize his stay in her house. The little boy is often silent in the morning, he needs some time before turning into the chatterbox he now lets himself be when he's around them. 

Sarah gives him a gentle smile and lets her hand glide down the curve of his neck, around his shoulder and down his arm to finish its course in the little boy's hand. She's grabs it firmly and leads him downstairs and feels Tony's hand squeeze hers in return while they step down the stairs. He's perfectly capable of walking down on his own but as she noticed, the little boy seems to be finding excuses to keep contact with her, even the smallest of touches. He likes holding her hand while they walk down the stairs and she likes it too.

Once downstairs he's sat down on one of the kitchen's chairs and waits for his bowl of hot chocolate to be placed in front of him. She grills some toasts in the oven and spreads butter and homemade jams on them while the bacon and eggs are cooking. They both eat them quietly, looking at each other and smiling from time to time. She drinks her coffee and he finishes his hot chocolate. The bowl is almost as big as his head and seems huge in his little hands but he holds it with mastered strength and drinks it to the last drop. When he puts the bowl down he's got a nice browny mustache of chocolate on his upper lip and smiles to her satisfyingly. It's in moments like this that she is reminded how young a child he is. 

"When is Steve coming back?" He asks and it's the first thing he's said since they got up.

She brushes her hand on his cheek and smiles. He doesn't flinch. Not anymore. "Later tonight." She answers. He already knows but he keeps asking anyway, needing the reassurance that Steve _is_ gonna be back. He's scared, that she is certain, but she doesn't know if he's scared about Steve, that something bad might happen to him, like she is when he's gone for several days on surveillance operations. Or that he won't come back for him. Both alternatives are equally heart-wrenching anyway. "He'll be there tonight, I promise." She says and keeps fondling his cheeks. He lets her, eyes shining with repressed anguish. She ignores the pang in her heart. 

They're both cutting carrots when Joe finally joins them down in the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee. The little boy insists on helping her and he's actually a great help. She was reluctant about letting him use a knife before but he's very nimble and cautious for his age so she quit trying to stop him from doing it. He likes being helpful and Sarah suspects it's another one of those things he does when he craves for someone's attention or simply needs the proximity but can't quite let himself say it. As months passed by he's become less and less needy of such things and now she can leave him to play for hours in the bedrooms upstairs without fearing he might be distressed all by himself. 

This morning however, the boy lingers but he's discreet and useful enough not to be under her feet. He's mostly quiet, unless speaking is required, and keeps asking for time to time. "How long will it be till Steve's back?" It breaks her heart each time but she keeps answering with a gentle smile. "Tonight, honey. He'll be here tonight." The boy nods and returns to his task and then he asks again, tone nonchalant even though she knows deep in her heart how worried he is. 

Later that morning, they make a special cake, for Steve. Tony wanted to make Steve a cake, his favorite. Tony always wants to make things for Steve, even the smallest attentions. Steve seems to be all he thinks about sometimes, his sole reason for living and it's both scary and endearing. She can't ever deny him that, can she?

He's been reading the recipe for the past hour and now knows it by heart even though he doesn't understand all the words, yet. He will learn, she will teach, she promised. 

When she decided he lingered enough, she asks Joe to get him off her back. She hasn't noticed yet but he left with the broken toaster after having asked repeatedly why she toasted his bread in the oven. She was about to throw it away and she won't need to do that anymore because by midday, her toaster is alive again and when she frowns at her husband skeptically, staring at him questioningly, he just shrugs and opens his arms in helpless manner, probably as clueless as she is. She shakes her head, unplugs the toaster and plugs it again. It _works._ And Tony has already run off to the back garden or upstairs, she isn't sure. It just means she's finally free. Sometimes you just need to take the things as they come you way. 

When it's time for lunch, Sarah has completed about seventy percent of her tasks. Her daughter Laura will come and help before everyone else arrives. The children will be able to play together. That's a good thing.

"Tony?" She calls when they arrive. "Come down and say hello to your cousins."

"I'm busy." The little boy answers. 

Did he just say _no_ to her? That little cheeky bastard. Her smile spreads on her face. That's good right? It's good. He's finally letting himself be a child. 

"Tony!" She repeats more curtly. "Come down and say hello." 

"But I'm busy!" 

Sarah's smile fades and she takes a deep breath. "Come down this instant!" She shouts. The children sniggers and Laura rolls her eyes. They hear small steps and finally see the little boy's face appear at the corner. He's biting his nails. 

"Hello." He mutters and spins around towards where he just came from before Laura has the chance to ask him for a kiss. 

Sarah presses her hands on her waist and frowns at him. "You will come down right now and kiss hello to your aunt, young boy," she snaps, "before I get mad."

Tony turns back and sniffles. He walks down the last steps and kisses Laura hello and nods to his cousins. He looks truly upset however. Sarah grabs his wrist and pulls him into her embrace. She crouches down and runs a hand into his hair. "What is wrong?" She asks softly. 

The little boy's heart is beating fast. His breathing hitches and he starts inhaling heavily. "But I—I—I hav—haven't finished," he stutters between hiccups. 

"What is it you haven't finished?"

"My—my present—for Steve."

Sarah feels her lips quirk up and she takes the misty-eyed child in her arms. "Oh honey, that's so sweet. You didn't have to do that."

"But—but people—give each other—gifts, at Christmas."

"Of course not, silly." She says teasingly while wiping a teardrop from the corner of his eye. _"Santa_ makes the gifts." And then she kisses him on the cheek and cups his face in her hand. "You can finish your present later, I promise. It'll be a nice surprise. He'll be very happy."

The boy nods and looks consoled. "Is he gonna be back soon?"

"Tonight, honey. Tonight, I promise." The boy nods again and sniffles. "Why don't you go and play with your cousins, uh?"

Tony nods and whispers "okay" before running off upstairs where his cousins already went.

It's not always easy between Tony and Cooper and Lila. Mostly because the little boy doesn't know how to interact with other kids well and often has different interests from them. He's making progress nonetheless and has been learning how to be normal child. Sometimes, the magic works and they don't hear the children again during the entire afternoon. Sarah suspects that the little boy has them wrapped around his little fingers, obeying him to the letter despite being two years younger than Lila and almost four years younger than Cooper. Tony tends to do that. He usually involves the two of them in whatever crazy idea he's had. The nice thing about it is that when they do the brother and sister don't start bickering like always. 

It's only after their snacks, when Sarah is alone finishing the last details and Laura took her father out for last minute shopping, that things get ugly. So to speak. She hears squabbling and then shouting and then crying, she runs up. 

Lila is weeping her eyes out. Cooper is sulking angrily in a corner, arms crossed against his chest and legs bent, pushing against the wall. Tony is furious and tapping his foot on the floor, his little fists clenched and ready to fight.

"What is happening now?" Sarah asks, looking stern and not amused. She puts her hands on her hips. 

"He said I was dumb." Lila cries, pointing at Tony.

Sarah frowns. "Did you say that, Tony?" The little boy snorts in anger but doesn't answer. He pouts instead. Sarah looks up at Cooper who is the oldest and supposedly the most sensible. It still needs to be proven though. "Cooper, can you tell me what this is about?

"I'm fed up with being ordered around. I'm done with this stupid play." He snaps. 

"It's _not_ stupid!" Tony shouts.

"Tony's mean." Lila whines.

Sarah squats next to Tony and grabs his shoulder. "Tony," she grumbles while staring into his eyes. "You don't call people names! It's wrong!"

The little boy shakes frustratingly. "But she can't even read her lines properly. She keeps making mistakes." He spats, sounding enraged. 

Lila cries even louder. "He's a tyrant," she complains, "and I just can't learn those stupid lines," and throws a bunch of sheets of paper away that Sarah picks up from the floor before getting her attention back on Tony.

"They're _not stupid!"_ Tony almost screams out of frustration.

Sarah squeezes his shoulder and groans. "Firstly, saying Lila is dumb is _not_ nice," she scolds. "I don't want you to do this again. Secondly, you need to understand that not everybody has a memory like yours. You can't insult your cousins because they don't learn as quickly as you. You need to be more tolerant! I will not tolerate that kind of behavior again, do you hear me?"

Tony burst into tears. "But I wanted—" he sobs, "I wanted—" and hiccups. "I wanted it to be _perfect."_

Sarah's poor heart breaks again and she curls her arms around him and wraps him into her embrace, the little boy is inconsolable and cries into her neck.

"What is this about?" She asks after a while when Lila and Cooper seem to have regained composure. 

"We're not supposed to say." The little girl explains. 

"It's a surprise." Cooper explains further.

Sarah looks at the papers in her hands. Lines and lines of too perfect a writing for it to be either Cooper's or Lila's. She stares at Tony bewilderedly. "Tony, sweetheart. Whatever you've planned for us tonight. I'm sure it's gonna be perfect. Even if you can't remember your lines well. You don't need to stress out about it, okay? We'll love it all the same."

The little boy nods and steps out of her embrace. He wipes his tears with his sleeve and looks at her. "When is Steve gonna be back?" He asks. "I want Steve back." He says in a sniffle and lets out a shuddering breath.

Sarah presses her hands on each side of his neck and kisses him on the forehead. "Soon, sweetheart." She rubs her thumbs on his cheekbones. "Now be good and promise me you won't be mean to your cousins anymore, okay? I'm looking forward to seeing that wonderful play of yours, okay?"

Tony nods.

The children are not heard again for the rest of the day and don't even come down when the first guests arrive. Everyone is now waiting for Steve. He just gave Sarah a call as he was about to leave the precinct, he should be here any minute. 

When a key starts unlocking the front door while they're all sipping a glass of wine on the couches of the living room, Sarah raises an eyebrow and says. "Uh, must be Steve."

Then, a herd of elephants is making themselves heard on the third floor and starts running down the stairs. 

Sarah gets up as do Joe and Laura while the others keep drinking patiently. Steve pushes the door open and doesn't even have the time to step his first foot inside that one eager little boy runs into his arms and jumps on him so hard Steve stumbles back a few steps on the threshold. Like two magnets the two of them are pulled toward each other with ethereal force. It's unsettlingly moving. "Hey, little guy." Steve mutters and his smile spreads on his face, happy and wet. The weariness Sarah caught a glimpse of before Tony assaulted him with kindness gone, erased from his softening features. 

Tony clamps his legs around Steve's waist and they bury their heads into each other's necks. Steve inhales a deep breath of the little boy's smell and holds him tight, hands splayed gently against his back.

"I missed you too, sweetheart." He husks out and his voice is broken, on the verge of tears. 

Her son cradles the little boy in his arms like the most precious thing on earth and Sarah holds back her tears. What a gift from the god that little boy is! Tony makes everything more intense, more _beautiful_ as she noticed over the months. The little boy is overflowing with love and affections. Each emotion he feels enhanced and going haywire. Every hello is like an effusion of love. Every goodbye is a heartbreaking separation. Every little thing you do for him is met with bursts of excitement and cries of joy. Sarah had never met someone as emotionally dense before. Everything is just _more._

It's been such a wonderful journey.

The cuddling session lasts long enough that Sarah needs to interrupt it so she can finally close the door. As touching as the moment was, it is still December and heating is expensive. Steve puts a reluctant Tony down and takes off his coat. He barely has the time to settle down and greet everyone with a wave of his hand that Tony climbs on his lap and doesn't let him go for the next thirty minutes. Steve doesn't seem to be bothered, or even _notice._ He's attention is fully focused on the little boy who tells him excitedly about his day or whatever it is that utterly fascinating and certainly deserves Steve's utmost attention. Sarah used to be frustrated, at first, when the little boy monopolized her son who seemed absent from their family gathering and only focused on Tony like the rest of them didn't exist. She's come to accept it and mostly finds it endearing. Even though she'd like too to spend some time with her son.

Now that everyone's here. They can make a toast. The adults are eating little appetizers while the children are setting up their scenery. Sarah must admit that when she realized the children where preparing a surprise show for them to enjoy later, her expectations weren't high. Well, they've all been to school plays, right? It's cute spectacular but everyone's happy when it finally ends. Right? Right.

Needless to say she'd been happier by the fact it kept the kids busy for the entire afternoon than by the prospect of watching it, later. A little white lie never killed anyone. 

How wrong she was.

Firstly, the set, although simple for lack of time, is very well-thought and plunges her into the story right away. As for the others, it seemed to have teased their curiosity at least because everyone is now looking at their improvised stage with marveled eyes, squirming on their seats excitedly and start chatting up about it.

The children are very thorough in their settings. Then they put on costumes. When did they have time to make costumes? It's basic mostly but, without the help on an adult, the depiction is quite impressive. When they're ready, Tony stands in the middle of the room and opens his mouth, commanding silence and respect. He occupies the space the way no-one else in the room could. "Everyone." He says but unruly adults seem to forget that children need to be respected too. "Everyone!" He repeats, a tinge of annoyance in the voice. This time the audience stop their chattering and turn to the stage, a little amused by the burst of frustration anger coming from such a small boy.

Tony waits for everyone to look at him and starts introducing the show. "Lila, Cooper and I are very proud to present our first performance of the Magic Christmas Play." He says solemnly. Sarah hears sniggers here and there that seem to annoy the boy even more. He takes a deep breath and ignores the mocking laughs. Although they're more fond teasing than truly mocking.

And then Cooper switches the lights off and everyone falls silent, enthralled by the eerie voice of the little boy in the darkness, while they're using Christmas lights and shadow plays to suggest the decor. "Our story begins in the enchanted forest and Lila, the elf of the woods suddenly hears a scream."

After the first lines everyone is captivated and lives the show as intensely as Sarah does. Tony tells the story while Cooper and Lila play different characters, changing costumes every time. Tony is wonderful teller as it appears. He knows all his lines by heart while the others look at their papers from time to time. The show was truly spectacular in the end. It lasted about thirty minutes and Sarah didn't get bored once. What a wonderful play! And the acting! She doesn't know if that was Tony's influence, if he coached them or anything or if they majorly improved their acting skills since the last time she saw them in a school play but that was so deep and profound and the text was absolutely beautiful. So was the moral at the end. 

Sarah truly loved the show. Little did she know then, however, that the Magic Christmas Play would become a thing. 

The children are now bowing under a round of enthusiast applause and even get a standing ovation, albeit, under family circumstances. Steve is melting with pride and wipes the corner of his eyes, utterly speechless. He tries to stand up from his seat but Tony shouts again. "Wait!" The adults grumble a little as they were all stretching up and getting ready to start with dinner.

"I'm starving." Clint says while stretching his back and rubbing his stomach.

Tony gives him a death stare. "You can go stuff your stomach Uncle Clint, your attendance is not required." He says curtly, pout on his lips. 

Clint laughs and sits back. "Oh certainly not, young man!" He teases. "Attend I shall." And everyone sits back on their seats and watch the scene amusedly. 

Tony becomes suddenly crimson red and starts stuttering. "I wanted to—I—I wanted to give you a present." he's addressing Steve and suddenly nothing around them matters anymore. "I—I wrote something."

The little boy falters, losing confidence as everyone is now staring at him with intent curiosity. He tries to speak but the words won't come out so he looks at his paper and the ways it quivers in his hand. He tries to muster the courage to raise his eyes again. 

"It's okay, Tony." Steve mutters softly. "You can show me later."

The little boy snaps his head up. "No! I want to say it now."

Steve gives him an encouraging smile and Tony opens his mouth, shaking like a leaf. "What is it, sweetheart?" Sarah interjects, trying to ease the boy. 

"It's a poem." Tony answers.

"And what is the title?" Laura asks. 

"It's doesn't have a title." 

"It's alright, we're all listening, boy." Joe adds with his low deep voice that always reassures the boy. 

"Steve," Tony starts and shivers from head to toes. "as I was asleep you awoke me." The atmosphere is eerie. "In a world of darkness you showed me..."

"..."

As Tony whispers his last words, his voice is trembling and he sighs relievedly, hands shaky. His face is still flushed and his eyes expectant, looking for Steve's.

Sarah swallows down a sob. She has no words. Neither does anyone else for the silence is heavy.

She glances at her son who is staring back into the little boy's eyes and cries profusely, silent tears dripping down his tired cheeks. He sucks in a shuddering breath. His chest is shaky, his breathing hard. the hint of a smile is appearing on his face but it's too strained and forlorn. Speechless as everybody else.

Then, Sarah glances at her husband and he too, is misty-eyed. She wipes the tears from her eyes and breathes quietly in the silent night. She's just lost her appetite. 

_Steve,_

_As I was asleep you awoke me._

_In a world of darkness you showed me,_

_What love can be._

_In the scary night you took my hand,_

_Brought me back to the safest of lands,_

_Now my heart to you I hand._

_Before I met you I was dead,_

_Suffocated by the monsters in my head,_

_Now, in your arms I breathe again._

_From the highest mountains, to the deepest seas,_

_Only your golden hair and your sapphire eyes I shall see,_

_How beautiful you can be._

_For you those words I whisper in the wind,_

_May us together against the world always win._

_If you want me, yours I shall be_

_To the moon and the stars, to the infinity,_

_I vow myself to you eternally._

_For you are a prince and my knight in shining armor._

_I love you,_

_Forever and ever._


	19. One bold proposal

"You know, you'll never see him. Even you stay up all night." He says while looking down at the little boy who's building a castle with lego pieces. He crouches down and smiles, keeping his distance as he knows the boy is still awkward around him. "Santa will know you're after him," he whispers like he's telling the boy a secret. "And he'll hide from you and wait for that one moment you close your eyes to drop presents by the Christmas tree." He nods like a pretentious parent who knows best. "Uh huh."

The little boy shrugs. "I'm not staying for Santa Claus," he explains with an unsettling confidence. "Santa doesn't exist. He's just a myth."

He chuckles in surprise. "Is that so?"

"I'm just not tired, that's all." Tony continues with astounding certainty. His eyes are darker though and lose focus sometimes. 

"Oh really, are you?" He pinches his lips into a grimace and rubs his chin in a mock reflective gesture. Then, he looks at his watch, by that time his own children have been asleep for a while. Safe and sound upstairs, quiet and still, probably dreaming about tomorrow. 

"So, you don't believe in Santa?" He just says pensively. "Interesting."

"Of course not." The little boy answers in an outraged tone. "The whole Santa thing is just a sham invented by parents to force their kids to be good but really, his existence is mathematically impossible."

His eyes go wide. He wants to laugh hard but swallows it down.

"Ha, really? How's that?"

"Well, of course it's impossible, uncle Clint. Be logical. There are more than five billions of people living on this planet. Imagine if Santa had to visit every home in just one night. Let's say an entire day, 24 hours, knowing there are 86400 seconds in one day and considering that the average house contains about four people, make it six, to be on the safe side. That would mean that he would have only 0.0001 second for each home, not counting the time he would need to get from one home to another. Considering that some of them are thousands miles apart."

Perhaps his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He gapes at the boy but doesn't back out from this fight. No sir!

"Which is why," he explains, "we don't see him."

Tony doesn't listen to him and keeps rambling about all the reasons Santa Claus cannot exist in real life. "Besides, Christmas isn't even celebrated in every part of the world. If he really existed, he would be universal, like physics laws. Also, it's currently summertime in the countries of the south hemisphere so really, the whole snowy Christmas tree fancy flying sledge pulled by reindeers and furry red outfit makes it more part of a folklore and not based on any serious scientific origin. His whole existence doesn't make any sense."

Clint smiles fondly at him. What is going on in that head of his? He wonders. "It's magic." He insists, trying to make the boy dream a little. "It can't have a rational explanation."

"There's no such thing as magic." Tony retorts. "There are just phenomenons that haven't be explained by science yet."

He laughs.

"Okay, Tony." He finally says, defeated. He glances at his watch again. "Hey," he suggests, "what do you say we go to that comfy armchair to the fireplace and read a book?"

Tony shrugs. "No."

The blunt rejection kind of stings but Clint rarely backs out from a challenge. In that sense, he and Steve are very similar, which can lead to funny family gatherings. "Well... I can't read well. Would you mind helping me out?"

"That's a lie." Tony replies curtly and Clint stares at him, dumbfounded. "Lila says you read the best bedtime stories but I really doubt that because Steve does."

He laughs again.

"You're right. I do tell a mean bedtime story. Would you like me to tell it?"

"No thanks. I'm good."

Right. Quick, an idea, an idea. _Ah?_

"Hey, do you know who is very tired and would very much like you to read them bedtime stories?"

_There you go..._

The little boy suddenly looks up at him with interest. He glances at the broadness of Steve's back who is still sitting at the dinner table with everyone else and back up at him. He bites his lips hesitantly.

Clint continues. "You know what you should do?" Tony blinks. "You should get ready to bed, put on your pajamas, brush your teeth and come back down with a great story so that you can read it to him. That would make him very happy. Would you like me to help you?"

The little boy nods and stands up, straightening his clothes embarrassedly. He holds his hand to Clint who slips his own fingers in it. _Victory!_ Clint thinks proudly.

He leads the little boy upstairs and realizes Tony didn't need his help at all. The boy strips and folds his clothes carefully into a pile next to his bed. He puts on his pajamas and goes to brush his teeth without Clint needing to do or say anything. He's a little impressed, he admits, when his own son who's four years older still needs his parents to get dressed. Out of habit, and because he needs to feel useful at least for something, Clint takes a washcloth from the cupboard underneath the bathroom sink and wipes his face clean. The little boy just lets him do it without protesting.

Once cleaned up and ready, the little boy walks out of the bathroom shuffling like a zombie. He's dead on his feet but keeps pretending he's not tired. Tony is not his son and tonight's kinda special so Clint doesn't insist. He takes the little boy's hand and walks him downstairs, carrying the book he chose in his other hand. 

When his feet touch the ground floor, Tony runs to Steve, expectant. "You want me to read you a story?" He asks innocently. Clint hands them the book and crosses his arms, internally laughing. Then he goes back to his own seat across the table from them.

When he and Laura got married, Steve was still a kid, albeit a mature one but a kid nonetheless. They've become close since then, Clint would even say good friends. What he didn't expect however was to become an uncle so early on and of one strange little boy too but the fact rejoices him. The two of them obviously belong together. It's so evident when you see them like this. Steve is an unexpectedly good father, despite his lack of experience and young age. He's doing his best, at least. They're gonna learn together, he reckons. A path full of ambushes, surely.

Steve picks up the exhausted little boy from the floor and sits him on his lap. "You should get to bed now, Tony." Steve whispers. "Or you'll be too tired tomorrow to open your presents." Tony shakes his head into a no. "And remember, Edwin will come for lunch tomorrow." Steve insists but the little boy refuses to budge. "I'm not tired," he declares and he curls into a ball and snuggles against Steve, burying his head in the crook of his neck. Steve keeps talking to his family without paying attention to the boy's ministrations but Tony starts kissing him on the cheek and on the top of his neck. At some point Steve squirms and his eyes meet Clint's. The young man shivers. 

Clint stopped listening to the conversation. "Hey Tony, can I get a kiss too?" He asks teasingly. 

The little boy grumbles and mumbles a no while hiding his face into Steve's neck. Clint smiles and makes a false disappointed pout. Steve smiles too, a pretty, very fond smile, so full of innocence. The little boy keeps nuzzling against him and Steve slightly pushes him away. 

"You should keep some of those kisses for your girlfriend at school." Clint teases again, on purpose.

The little boy grumbles again. "I don't have a girlfriend." 

"Do you have a boyfriend then, maybe?" 

Laura gives him a tap on the knees. Sarah Rogers glares at him. That old Joe frowns angrily and clenches his fists, keeping his mouth shut for the sake of decency. As for Steve, well, something like fear flashes through the young man's eyes for a split second. 

Tony shakes his head into a no.

"Who are you going to marry then?" Clint asks with a sympathetic voice.

"For God's sake Clint! Just leave the boy alone!" Mother-in-law snaps. "Can't you see he's tired?" Clint can see very well, thank you, but he's got a point to make.

"I'm not tired!" Tony protests. "And when I grow up, I'll marry _Steve."_

Steve chokes on his own saliva, everyone else is speechless. An angel flies across the room.

"Tony, sweetheart." His mother-in-law starts with her sweetest voice. "You can't marry Steve."

The little boy's face looks crestfallen. "Why not?" He rasps.

"Because he's too old for you." Clint says. 

"Because he's a man." Sarah and Laura say, almost in unison, covering Clint's voice.

"Why can't I marry a man?" Tony asks ingenuously. 

"Because it's not possible." Everyone says. "It doesn't exist."

"Then, I'll make it possible." Tony declares and then he snuggles back in the crook of Steve's neck and Steve tightens his embrace around him protectively. "Will you marry me, Steve?" The little boy asks with the softest voice.

Steve laughs, as does everyone else. "Yes, Tony." He answers with the fondest voice. "If you makes it possible for two men to get married then I'll marry you."

_Ooooh Steve..._

A beginner's mistake, Clint thinks, he should have killed the bird in the nest and crushed the little boy's hopes before they could ever bloom. 

"Can you tell me a story?" Tony asks and falls asleep within the first ten words Steve utters. The young man cradles him into his embrace and walks him up the stairs into his bedroom. 

No-one will ever mention that promise again.


	20. A dark secret

He's found evidence.

He knows... He fucking _knows_ now and regrets it so much. He regrets everything.

The case was abandoned by his peers, unclassified, cold. They didn't care about solving the case. No one did. No one cares. Who would be interested in avenging the death of three lowlife criminals? No-one. No-one complained. No-one asked for justice. Since Howard Stark died, no-one found any legitimate reason to spend time or money to find the culprit(s). Since Howard was the only one besides Steve who wanted to know the truth. Now that he's dead, no cares anymore. Only Steve is driven by a profound sense of justice. Only him craves for the truth, for solving the murder case, for carrying on the investigation when everyone else, including the FBI, left it rot on the side, making it their last priority. His peers were always way too eager to relegate this case to the bottom of the pile and let the files get dusted and covered in spider webs. No-one wants to stir the hornet's nest. Hiding the truth is convenient for both parties.

They had forgotten about Steve though and in the absence of any effort of their parts, he took it upon himself to solve this case, on his own, whenever he got time on his hands. All that to find the murderer or murderers, plural. And not only because Tony was concerned but simply because it was the right thing to do. It seemed to be at the time anyway. Now, it looks like relentless harassment. He worked on this for more than a year. He got through the reports again and again, looking for missed clues. He dissected every one of them, watched and re-watched all the pictures taken on the crime scene meticulously. Every detail. Every blind spot. He was _there,_ he _remembers._ The sight of it, the smell of it, everything.

He even went back. 

And found evidence.

The truth was right there in front of them but they never even considered it. Simple and obvious. Hidden in plain sight. The fucking only logical explanation. 

He's found evidence and now he's sure. Now he knows the truth. 

And the truth turns his blood to ice.

He's been having nightmares about it for months. He can't quite know what to do with the knowledge. He doesn't know if he can survive this, if his heart can take it, he's conflicted.

What should he do now, with that piece of evidence? Should he show it to Coulson? Should he tell Fury? Or should he hide it away for the rest of his life? What would be the best thing to do? The _right_ thing? 

Sometimes, the right thing isn't what one might think. Sometimes the right thing might be wrong thing in regards to the law. Or perhaps sometimes, you gotta do the wrong thing to protect the ones you love.

Steve shuts up about it and destroys the evidence.

He knows the risks he's taking by doing so. And he knows deep in his heart that there's something wrong about it but when he looks at the boy and sees him making progress every day. When he sees him smile wholeheartedly and hug his mother and climb onto his father's lap and laugh all the time and sleep peacefully and undisturbed by sordid memories. He can't let him live it all again.

He can't do that to him.

He'd rather bury it deep into the back of his mind and never think about it ever again.


	21. Cherry tree

It's a nice winter afternoon and the sun is shining low in the sky.

Joseph took the boy outside and they're both riding through Prospect park. Tony rides well now. He got stronger legs and doesn't ask to be pushed every time there's a little slope to overcome. It's such a beautiful weather they even stop for some ice cream. It will be their little secret. No need to tell Sarah or even Steve. They would get their panties in a twist about it. 

They don't get back too late because Joseph has things he needs to get done by the end of the day. Once home, Joseph treats the boy to a hot chocolate and toasts of jam and then he goes to his garage to take a look at that old Harley he promised his friend Kenny he would. He kind of hoped the boy would help but he unexpectedly wants to enjoy the sunshine for a little more and refuses, not blatantly no, but Joseph just knows so he doesn't even suggests it.

He's been at it for about half an hour when he glances outside. The sun is already setting and the sky is shadowed with orange tones. The rays shines through the leafless branches of their small cherry tree. It's like a dance of white lines as the branches move with the wind. 

Huh.

They move a lot from just a soft breeze like Joseph is feeling on the back of his neck.

And suddenly, from the last branch at the top, Joseph catches the sight of a small human form falling down in a deaf thump on the ground. _Tony!_

His heart skips a beat but the little boy is back on his feet before he even has the time to react. He sighs of relief and leaves the wrench on his workbench. The sun blinds him when he walks out and the little boy is by his side in no time. He's just walked a couple of yards when he feels the boy's little hand slip in his. "Do you need my help, grandpa?"

His back does hurt, yeah, and after all that riding, his leg are a little shaky but he's not a cripple yet, thanks. Tony is such a thoughtful kid, so observant, it's unsettling sometimes. "I don't, kiddo," he says, "but if you want take a look at it, then help yourself!" He glances down at the little boy and smiles. His clothes are crumpled and covered in dust. Tony looks up into his eyes and smiles back.

"Okay." He just says and drops his hand to run inside the garage. His gait is funny. 

"Are you alright, Tony?"

The little boy quickly nods, stretching his lips into a semblance of repressed smile. His eyes avoid him however. 

"Are you sure?" Joseph insists. "You didn't hurt yourself back there?"

Tony shakes his head, a little pout on his lips. 

"Can you show me your arms?" 

The little boy obliges and quickly stretches his arms upward in Joseph's direction. The old man barely has the time to throw a quick glance at them. They're grimy and he notices the shapes of gravel marked into his skin but no blood. The little boy quickly pulls them back and steps away, looking at Joseph's collection of tools. He left arm dangling on the side, unusually limp. The way he walks from one side to the other, skimming his right fingers on the shiny metal of the bike, is wobbly.

Joseph frowns.

"Come over here, son." Tony's eyes flicker upward and he looks at him sheepishly. "What have you done out there?"

"Nothing."

"I saw you fall from the cherry tree, you know? Did you break some branches? Is that why you're not telling me?"

Tony's eyes glimmer with something that might have been fear. He shakes his head embarrassedly, turning red and ill-at-ease.

"You need to tell me if you've hurt yourself, you know?"

"I'm fine." He rushes to say, expression apologetic.

Joseph hums skeptically. "Show me your legs." The little boy bites his tongue inside his mouth and grimaces. "Yeah, you heard me. Pants down, young man!"

Tony bites his bottom lip and unbutton his pants, letting them glide down his skinny legs. Joseph was right. There's blood on both his knees but it's shallow. It must still hurt a little. 

Joseph furrows his brows and taps his foot on the floor, arms crossed against his chest. "Sarah won't be back from work until late tonight you know? We need to clean this now."

"I'm fine." Tony insists and pulls his pants up. Joseph wants to protest but Tony has already run outside the garage and is now playing with a stick under the darkening sky.

He sighs and gets back to working on the bike. It's another half an hour before the night falls and he gets back to start heating up their dinner, kindly prepared by his wonderful wife. He certainly doesn't deserve her. Tony's run upstairs to continue a two-thousand pieces puzzle. Joseph's renounced trying to clean up his wound. He'll do it after his bath.

When he calls him, Tony is already showered and in his pjs. Weird. Joseph had specifically said he wanted to see to his wounds during bath. He sits at the table quietly, at his usual spot. Having the little boy over for dinner has already become part of a routine. Joseph already served them. The plates are smoking.

He pours some water into the boy's glass and he takes it with his right hand, gulping it down in one go. Then he picks up his fork with his right hand again. Joseph stops chewing and swallows difficultly. 

Tony's left-handed.

He drops his fork and frowns at the boy. "Show me your left arm!" He demands in a strict tone. The little boy's eyes flash with worry but he complies, reluctantly.

Tony pulls his sleeve up and shows Joseph his left forearm, looking apologetic and frightened. Joseph is horrified. What he sees is _nasty._ Swollen and bluish, turning purple and dark. His wrist almost doubled size. 

He gasps and brings a trembling hand to his mouth. He doesn't say anything. He wouldn't even know where to begin. 

Instead, he rises on his feet, puts the rest of their dinner into the fridge, gives a call to Sarah and then to Steve. Not without an ounce of shame. Then he hauls the boy up on the table to slide his shoes on and put a coat his shoulders. He carries the boy inside his car and fastens his belt before sitting on the driver's seat.

Tony's breathing accelerates. 

"I'm not mad at you, Tony." Joseph says during the ride as the little boy keeps silent worriedly. "I'm not mad because you climbed on the tree and fell from it. Yeah, that was a dumb thing to do but little boys do dumb things. I'm not mad because you hurt yourself," he carries on. "I'm _mad,_ because you didn't tell me right away. Promise me you'll never do that again."

Tony promises.

Once they arrive in the pediatric ward and check in, they're called in by a young nurse. A pretty one, blond with dark eyes. If Joseph had been younger... And single obviously. She seems to recognize Tony. Tony seems to recognize her.

The little boy already has a cast on his forearm by the time Steve arrives at the hospital. Broken wrist. Joseph doesn't know where to put his face. His son's eyes are sending daggers and a glimpse of deep worry is glimmering behind the golden blue of his irises. That happened under _his_ watch. When _he_ was in charge. It could have happened with anyone, but it happened with _him._ For a moment Joseph thought he had lost his son's trust for the rest of his life.

"How is he?" He asks with a deep hoarse voice, his tone stern and harsh. His hands are laying on his hips in repressed anger and one can see the holster of his gun and his badge tied to his belt.

"Sedated," Joseph answers, "but fine. It's a broken wrist. He'll keep that thing for two months and then start reeducation but at his age they recover well. He'll be back on his feet in no time."

Steve glances at Tony's sleeping face, appeased and soft, and falls into Joseph's arms. He lets out a shuddering sigh. "Thank god!" He sighs relievedly. "You two scared the shit outta me." 

Joseph wraps his arms around him.

The two men spend the night by Tony's side. They chatter and sleep alternately and have great discussions about the meaning of life. Joseph has never so close to his son before.

When he wakes up the next morning, it's time for Tony's check up. The pretty blond nurse walks into the room. Steve stands abruptly, wavering clumsily on his feet. He wipes his hands on the back of his jeans.

"Oh, hi detective!" The blond says. The name Sharon is written on her badge. "It's nice to see you. I was overjoyed to hear that you are Tony's foster dad now. I was so worried about him after Howard Stark passed away."

Steve gives her a shy smile and laughs awkwardly, hands still wiping the back of his jeans. He rakes a clumsy hand on his hair.

Joseph makes a mental facepalm. God, his son is such a dud.

He can picture it though. Steve and delicate Sharon, and blond kids with brown eyes. A nurse, like Sarah. She's exactly what the boys need in their life right now. A nice woman to take care of them both. Sharon would be great with Tony. The two of them already get along so well. Maybe she's a great cook too. She would make them tasty dishes, feed them well like Sarah did. Perhaps she has soft hands too, like Sarah's. And she would be there when the boy has a fever, would stay up all night with him if needed be. She would look after that boy with all the love and patience no man ever could.

The pretty nurse curls a finger into a lock of her hair and laughs. She bats her eyelashes as they make small talk. Joseph really hopes his idiotic son will ask for her phone number by the end of Tony's stay.

One thing is sure however, Joesph will never let the boy make a fool of him again.


	22. Dedee

Steve is always nervous when he’s summoned to Tony’s school. The last time he was didn’t really go so well, to say the least, although they did find an arrangement in the end. Tony was moved in 3rd grade with Lila for the first part of the year and now he’s currently in 5th grade with Cooper. The teachers are truly doing their best to find him activities that match his level of intellect and his already vast knowledge while still including him into class activities and pushing him to mingle with the other kids. That’s not easy and Steve couldn't have asked for more. He doesn't regret one bit his choice to send Tony in a public school with other kids—un-special kids—with social diversity and a devoted staff.

Still, he can’t ignore the fact that Tony _is_ a troubled child. Even if he’s an adorable little boy at home when it’s only the two of them.

So, when the 5th  grade teacher, Miss Maximoff and the headteacher Mrs Pym, along with the school counsellor, Mr Insight asked him to come to talk about Tony. He freaked out. Just alittlebit.

Now they're all staring at him gravely and he starts sweating. He forces a smile on his face.

“So," he starts, losing confidence as the words leave his mouth. "You've asked for an appointment... I came as soon as I could. Is there a problem with Tony? Is he not adjusting in 5th grade? Is Miss Maximoff feeling uncomfortable around him?"

She gives him an uneasy smile. “No, of course not," the teacher assures. "Everything’s fine with Tony. He’s adorable, really. Polite, obliging, kind. And he smiles more lately, shares with the class too." She nods as she says so. "He doesn’t have as many fits of anger as before," she continues. "He’s made a lot of improvements over the months. It’s still a bit difficult for him to interact with the other kids—except for his cousins, of course—but he’s doing a lot better. It’s fine, really. That's not the reason we asked you to come."

"Well," Mrs Pym starts, sounding strict and inflexible. "Not really."

Steve looks at them with a dubious expression. _Uh huh_.

"Yes." Miss Maximoff continues. "He's doing great. And his school work is—"

"We're trying our best to feed his mind," the headteacher interrupts, "and it's been— _rewarding_ , to say least."

"He's very curious, eager to learn and produces excellent work." Miss Maximoff says with a soft smile.

"Usually." Mrs Pym adds and the way she utters the word sounds a little foreboding.

Steve frowns. _"Usually?"_

"Yes, he can be—" The teacher tries to explain but she gets interrupted again by the severe—not far from being rude—headteacher.

"Off-topic, sometimes." 

_"Sometimes."_ Miss Maximoff insists.

"What do you mean _off-topic?"_

"Well, we mean he's producing good work but do not always answer rightly the question that was originally asked, if you see what I mean."

Steve raises an eyebrows. He feels anger tingling at the bottom of his stomach and grits his teeth. "Well, if your instructions are as clear as your current intentions, I'm sorry but I understand if he's got trouble to meet your expectations."

"Miss Maximoff's instructions are not the issue here." Mrs Pym snaps with one raised stern eye.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," Steve apologizes and addresses Miss Maximoff directly. "Or question your skills as a teacher but—" He stops, evaluating the way the three pairs of eyes are assessing him right now and how self-conscious it makes him feel. "I thinks it's best if you go straight to the point."

"Right. Of course." Miss Maximoff agrees, looking slightly embarrassed. Her face is flushed and she averts his eyes when Steve tries to look at her.

Mr Insight, who until now was reclining on his seat, arms crossed on his chest, silently observing the conversation, suddenly props himself on his elbows and stares right into Steve's eyes with an unsettlingly still gaze. "Is he undergoing therapy at moment?"

Steve is left speechless for a short while. "Hum," he starts, feeling very embarrassed himself. "We tried." He explains honestly. "Believe me, I've tried." He lets out an uneasy little laugh. "He went to see six different therapists," he continues. "All of them told me it wasn't gonna work. He doesn't want to speak to them. Either he's mute, or he lies. Tells them what they want to hear and it's only after 5 ou 6 sessions that they realize it. I haven't find anyone he's been comfortable enough with to speak the truth and I don't think it's gonna be helpful if... I don't know, maybe I'm wrong. I'm not a specialist. I just... I figured he would talk when he feels ready? Until then, I'm trying not to push him too hard."

Mr Insight rubs his chin between his finger and his thumb pensively. "Huh uh."

"Why are you asking me that?" Steve asks worriedly and scrutinizes the three of them one after the other, looking for answers or clues, at least. He's usually on the other side of the interrogation game. "Do you think I should send him back?"

"Well, what we want is what's best for the child." Mr Insight explains. "We really want to make sure he's doing fine in school _and_ at home."

A shiver runs through Steve's spine. His heartbeat accelerates. "You think there's a problem at home," he guesses, "right?"

Miss Maximoff is red as a tomato. The others are unfazed. "You see," she starts with a hesitant voice. "There was an assignment to do and—"

"And he didn't do it?" Steve assumes, voice a little panicky. "Is he not listening to you?"

"No." Miss Maximoff corrects. "No. That's not what—"

"What she means," Mrs Pym completes, "is that he hasn't understood the instructions right or, at least, he didn't do what he was supposed to do."

"I'm sorry," Steve says curtly while shaking his head in annoyance, "but I really don't understand what you're trying to say."

"Well," the teacher tries again, "there was this assignment he had to do. It was about writing on their favorite toy, describe them, explain how they play with them, etc."

"Okay." Steve says hesitantly, reclining on the back of his chair. He still has troubles understanding what he's doing here... For missing the point in one assignment doesn't seem like a big deal to him, besides, Tony already excels at everything else... Can't they just cut him some slack?

"And Tony offered a very.... _different—"_

"interesting, per say." Mr Insight interjects.

"—approach to the work they were asked to do."

Steve shakes his head. "I don't get it."

"Well," Mrs Pym starts and hands him a sheet of paper. "See for yourself."

He takes the paper and starts reading.

And laughs.

It's mostly out of relief but also because it _is_ kind of funny. But then he retracts and raises his eyes only to be faced with three pairs of annoyedly furrowed brows.

"Right." Steve utters through his teeth. He bores an obviously uneasy smile. "That was inappropriate, wasn't it?"

Mr Insight smirks. "A little bit." He says sarcastically.

"Well, I'm sorry." Steve says while relaxing a little. "I see what you mean now about going back to see a therapist." This interview has been so tense, he was almost feeling like they were accusing him of something. It was a very unpleasant feeling. "It is a bit funny, though."

Apparently Mrs Pym doesn't have his sense of humor. "We don't think it is..." she says while making air quotes, _"funny."_

"No, Mr Rogers." Miss Maximoff adds in a very earnest tone. She's no longer embarrassed but genuinely concerned now. "This is very serious."

_Oh._

And now Steve understands why he's here and another chill runs down his spine. Not the good kind. "Oh," he says embarrassedly and feels his cheek heat with shame and anger alike. "Right." His smile is a little strained, a little sad. "I see where you're coming from... But no, I can assure you." He laughs awkwardly. "It's not what you think."

He's met with very skeptical glares.

Mr Insight rubs his chin again, falsely pensive. "Right..." He lets out suggestively. He has a scrutinizing look that says 'everything you say or do will be used against you.' Steve shrivels and lowers his gaze. Those are serious accusations and if they believe what Steve now thinks they're believing and reports it he will loses everything.

"Well you see, that's not—" he starts, feeling like the word guilty is written right across his face. He's hesitant and his voice shivering. He feels a tremor in his hands. "That's not _me_ he's talking about." But he sounds a lot like he's justifying himself. They still look at him accusingly and it's a horrible horrible feeling.

He starts sweating again, heavily, and feels a blush creeping down his neck. He scratches nervously.

"You don't believe me, do you?" He finally says in a sort of defeated tone and feels suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of injustice. "Maybe we should ask Tony himself, don't you think?"

He almost has tears in his eyes when he calls for the little boy who has been doing his homework in the adjacent classroom. "Tony, sweetheart. Can you come over here, please?"

Miss Maximoff stands up to take the boy's hand and lead him to an empty chair next to them. Suddenly all eyes are on him.

Tony looks at Steve and sees his expression. He starts biting his nails worriedly. "Steve?" He asks with a trembling voice. "Did I do something wrong?"

Steve smiles warmly to him although he doesn't feel like smiling at all. "No, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong." He answers softly. "Your teachers have been telling me about all those amazing things you've been learning. Keep up the good work! I'm very proud of you."

"It's true." Miss Maximoff says with an equally warm and benevolent smile.

"But they didn't understand well your last assignment, I think. The one about the toy."

"Didn't they?"

"Tony," Miss Maximoff mutters very softly, "can you explain to me what it was that you had to do?"

"We were asked to write about how favorite toy."

"Yes, indeed." The teachers smiles. "What were you supposed to write?"

"How we play with it, what we feel when we do, why it is our favorite..."

"Very well, Tony. You understood very well. Why didn't you do it then?"

"I did." The little boy answers naively.

"You wrote about Mr Rogers. Mr Rogers is not a toy, Tony. He's a person."

"No, I didn't. I wrote about Dedee, my bunny." Tony raises his hand and shows them the bunny in question. A dirty old thing that he keeps dragging around everywhere.

The three educators open wide eyes and part their lips in shock. 

The teacher's mouth gapes as if she silently says Oh My God. The school counsellor furrows his brows. "You called your bunny Detective Rogers?" Tony nods quickly, lips pressed closed. "Interesting." He rubs his chin again.

"I called it Detective Rogers because Steve offered it to me at the hospital." Tony explains. "But I wasn't allowed to call Steve _Steve_ yet, so I called my bunny Detective. Now, it's become Dedee. It's shorter."

Steve makes a sheepish smile. He stares at them embarrassedly. 

Everyone sighs relievedly.

"So when you wrote," Mrs Pym insists, "I quote, ' _I love having his thing in my mouth,'_ you are talking about your bunny?"

Tony looks at her with a fathomless expression. "I like sucking on my bunny's ears and legs. It makes me feel good and less scared at night, during the day too."

Miss Maximoff lets escape a relieved breath. Her eyes are misty.

"And when you write _'when I bury my nose into his hairs, I feel safe.'_ You're still talking about your bunny?"

Tony nods.

"What about _'I like having his tail in my hand and stroke it'_ and _'I want to rub against him at night,'_ still your bunny?"

"Yes." The little boys says and frowns at her. "Was I not supposed to write that? I thought we had to write how we felt, I—"

"You did very well, Tony. Thank you." Miss Maximoff interrupted. 

Steve picks up the boy from the chair and sits him up on his lap. He wraps his arms around him and whispers into his ear. "Go get your bag, sweetheart. We're going home."

The three educators have discomfit faces. "I am very sorry about this misunderstanding, Mr Rogers." Mrs Pym finally admits. "Please, accept my most sincere apologies." 

Steve nods. "I understand," he says. "This," he nods at the paper in her hand, "certainly brings confusion. I can't be mad at you for doing your job right. You had legitimate concerns and I can only be glad you reacted so quickly and that you chose to consult me. I only want the best for Tony and I'm really willing to work hand in hand with you to offer him the best education."

He stands up and shakes their hands.

"Mr Rogers," the school counselor calls out. "If I can offer you a piece of advice..."

"Certainly, Mr Insight." 

"Well, as you probably noticed, Tony is a hypersensitive boy."

"He is."

"He's very... _forward_ and heated in the description of his feelings."

Steve feels his cheeks blush. He pinches his lips. 

"And considering his extraordinary capacities, he's probably going to hang out with people a lot older than he is, even when he's still a very little boy." The counselor pauses and they share an understanding look. "You might want to do the _talk_ sooner rather than later." Mr Insight finally concludes. 

Steve nods appreciatively. "Thank you for your advice."

"I'm not saying you should do it tonight, or even next year. But don't wait until he's a dumb fifteen-ear-old teenager because it will be way too late by then. You need to protect him."

Steve parts his lips. "I understand, Mr Insight." He swallows. "I shall do that."

The other man smiles at him encouragingly.

Steve picks up Tony's worksheet from the table. Later tonight he will put it into the shoe box, along with all of Tony's drawings and little gifts he accumulated in all those months. Perhaps one day he'll dare show them to a therapist. Steve is very conscious of all the things the educators said even though he wants to bury that knowledge deep in his mind and never think about it again. He knows he'll have to do something about it some day. But he dreads this moment with all his being.

Tony sleeps well that night. He's not scared. He doesn't run into Steve's room in panic. He just sleeps peacefully and restfully, waiting for another wonderful tomorrow. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are happiness in my life. :)


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